Are we there yet?

Spring Time that is.....

Have we a glimmer of hope to get us through this measure of our seasonal fortitude? Is there a sign showing, anywhere that this will indeed end? We know the answer is yes; as I write, it's well after 6:00pm and still light, it is sunnier in the mornings and that sun actually produced enough warmth to create steam on the porch roof which faces south, as it melted last night's snow. It's just that when temperatures fall below the zero degree mark and we are adding the words minus and wind chill we seem to fall prey to a dispirit that consumes us. We live in the north, we have winter every single year and it always brings Spring in its wake. But when we are in the midst of it, the frigid, bone-chilling numbness of it, the shoveling, moving, drifting white-out of it, we just forget the end will truly come. We have lost all memory of natural warmth because our senses have been dulled by layers of fleece and fat. It is no joke that donut day falls in the very middle of winter, we need the deep fried calories to carry us through to the light of Spring.

Those of us who live in the country fare better I think, because we have an expectancy for work that is forged by heavy lifting. We are used to having to deal with things that mother nature hurls at us, we mow bigger lots, we plow longer driveways, we own tools and tractors, blowers and mowers. We expect a certain amount of manual labor in exchange for the joy of having a bit of the world to ourselves. It is an unspoken agreement between us and the mini-gods of weather. But those poor chumps up in Boston, (closing in on 100 inches of snowfall this year alone) or in any northern city this year, have had enough. They made no such bargain, they are ill prepared and unwilling to have to climb a six foot mountain of dirty snow just to get out of their homes. The parking alone that requires hours of shoveling followed by a creative stand your ground item to hold your spot, a lawn chair not providing sufficient heft to keep encroachers from pulling into the hard won parking place, now we have seen on the evening news, neighbors pitted against neighbor for the rights to an eight foot rectangle. They have been shown using a picnic table or a barbecue grill. Can you imagine hauling a picnic table to the street just to save your space, then having to move it to park?

And it just keeps coming, the drama surrounding the weather is a never ending source for commentary, it always has been, but of late it has begun taking on a new level of hysteria. Perhaps because we can capture every unfortunate slide and crash, every fight and missed flight all caught on phone photo and video and shared instantly online. Naming winter storms is new this year too, while we are used to naming hurricanes and tornadoes, tropical storms and volcanos, this added feature of calling the next big thunder snowstorm Roger, just makes it feel worse. Daughters who live in the south are incredulous at the complete lack of coping surrounding a little frosting, a glaze of ice and a temperature in the thirties. Schools are closed and flights are delayed.  Everyone takes to their Escalade SUV and hits the freeway like automotive lemmings to cliff's edge. My girls have what we  used to call gumption; they know how to wield a snow shovel and keep blankets and first aid kits in their cars, they own boots and hats and don't hold with a lot of fuss. Their northern genes recoil at the helplessness of their southern counterparts.

Today I saw a cardinal and heard the tiny chirping of Spring's first birds. I know they are out there making us fools again for our thoughts of never ending winter, reminding me that we have no control over any of it but that we can control ourselves, our emotions, our anger at what truly is a miracle. This white sleep covers hard work, under it lies the effort of the millennia, tiny bits of growth and renewal are occurring even as we complain. Little bits of life are gently opening and will show their bright, colorful faces in just seven weeks. They will push up through to the light of a filtered sun and smile their bright little beams of yellow and purple before we know it. They will come in time for egg hunts and baked ham and family gatherings over pastel colored linens. They come as they always do just before we lose our minds and gain another baked good pound, the signs of fresh new life born of the hidden effort required by winter and by us. Nothing truly worth having comes without work. Let's get on with it.