The First and Last

Finally, I think it is spring. Our weather has been really weird this year. (Don't we all say that every year?) After all, winter did not really get a start until mid-January. And now we have had snow on the ground until mid-April. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future, and so do the seasons.

But on Saturday, in honor of what I hope will be the last snow of the season, I made an observation. I think it is true. Here is the first part of the observation: In December, when we get the first snow of the winter, it makes us all happy. We are filled with a sense of joy. There is anticipation about the Christmas holidays. There is hope about the new year that is to come. Snow is fresh, clean and new. It is exciting when snow is new. There is the challenge of surviving the cold, traveling in slippery conditions. Snow, ice and winter give us a temporary illusion that we are pioneers. We can feel superior to our friends and loved ones (as well as strangers) who live in the south, the west, or other places where it never snows. "We are tough here. We can take it," we convince ourselves.

And we do a pretty good job. Days are shorter, colder, more miserable. But we keep going. Finally the calendar assures us that it is Spring. The problem is that this year at least, no one informed the weather. It took too long to get warm. So, here is the second part of the observation: When we get the last snow of the winter, no matter when it is, it does not make us happy.

We do as well as we can surviving the winter. But for all our protestation and assertions to the contrary, we really do not like winter. We despise cold. Ice is evil. And snow? Snow is a nuisance at best. This all comes out very clearly when it snows for the last time. No one seems happy about it. We are ready to move on with our lives. No more games. We do not like cold and snow. We do not like them, Sam I Am.