I like living in a place that has seasons. I love summer, and all its rituals - the feeling of sun-warmed smooth rocks under my bare feet on the Bay, the smell of cut grass, the dew in the early mornings. Fall is glorious, without the bugs and with the colours, and winter is beautiful - I even like bundling up and going outside.
Spring, though, should be the season I like the most. There comes a point in February or early March, when I'm just tired of having to put on a coat and boots every time I want to go everywhere, when I'm sick of having to check the weather forecast whenever I'm planning to drive any distance, when I miss the feeling of the sun on my skin... And those late winter days, when it's still beautiful winter but you can sit in a sheltered spot without a jacket, and go for the year's first bike ride, those are glorious.
But spring, in this climate, is not really all that much to get excited about. From the time when the mud starts to pop out and the snowbanks become grainy grey messes to the time that the trees get that faint green fuzz that indicates buds - that time I could do without. It has few redeeming qualities. The yard turns into a soft mess (my retired car, which has been passed to the kids as a future field car, is slowly sinking into its parking spot in front of the hay barn). Everything is grey and brown. I'm waiting for the tulips bulbs I planted last fall to send up their first shoots.
I went for a run around the block last week. The "block" in question is just under 10 km perimeter, and all the roads are paved. I went after work, though, which meant I was running in dusk and growing darkness. I wasn't wearing my headlamp, and there wasn't much reflective tape on my clothing - so when a car came toward me, I hopped off the pavement onto the shoulder. I can't say many nice things about puddles so extensive that there was nowhere but a puddle to go in many cases along the road. Running on the treadmill will remain my workout of choice until the shoulder loses its mud and puddles look.
On Saturday, it was sunny and just above freezing, and I took my bike out for a quick spin. One of the roads I decided on wasn't paved, and this was a mistake - the top layer was slippery, soft mud - except in the shade, where it was slick ice. Still, though, it was great to be outside and on my bike, and I was dressed for it with windstopper gloves and wind-blocking clothing. I came home because my feet started to protest - my bike shoes are summer bike shoes, and I have no overbooties with the hole cut out for where the shoe clips to the pedals. My feet were too cold. It will be a while before biking is just fun instead of pretty fun considering...
This morning, I looked at the Canadian Ice Service's ice conditions summary, and had a brief daydream about paddling once the ice goes. That's what this time of year is, waiting... It should be a relief that it's not so cold anymore, I should be like the chickens and the donkey and just excited to be outside and finding things alive after the winter. Instead, though, I look forward to less mud, warmer days, things growing...
I really need something to focus on for the time between winter and real spring. If I were the type who goes south every year, I wouldn't do it in January, I'd do it in mid-March. The lengthening days should make me happy, not grumpy and anxious for things to change. I need a distraction.
Oh, right... there's work! This is the time to really make some progress on a million headache-inducing projects...