The Thaw

The sky pounded out a half foot of snow on Friday evening. On the Tuesday prior, I was wandering through a soft, humid haze which emanated from acres and acres of defrosting lawns. Today is Easter Sunday, the fourth day of spring, and though I find myself, again, in a winter white world, I’m happy to report that the sidewalks are mostly clear. Ice doesn’t form so much when the ground is no longer frozen solid. It’s March in Michigan and I like to rally around the small victories.

You see, in Michigan the trees don’t bloom until the second half of April. By June, you can be reasonably assured that you won’t see your breath in a chilly breeze until September, but there are no guarantees in April or May. Winter usually suffers a slow death, so I find myself savoring all the quiet little harbingers of spring. The dawn of Daylight Saving Time is the first tangible reminder of summer’s existence, and I love that it now falls so early in the year. The evening is bright and that’s a change you can really feel. The vernal equinox – the moment when the sun’s direct light rises above the equator – is a more subtle, but no less significant change. This is the start of daytime’s six-month reign over night. To me, this is the true New Year’s Day.

That may be because I was born this time of year. I’ve always felt like I was really lucky to born in April, when there is so much promise of fun times ahead and all the Michigan people are experiencing every warm day as a moment of mass euphoria. Everyone is in an incredibly good mood when it’s 70 degrees and sunny in April. It’s like the entire population is on really good drugs. We’re just so happy that we can finally barbecue and have sex without socks again. It’s the yin to February’s yang. You can’t understand how those first warm days feel unless you’ve known a Michigan February, when everyone is depressed and driving poorly.

But don’t forget, winter can rise from the dead, like a bad action film villain, just to take another shot at your tender, thawing heart. This mini-blizzard from two days ago is a perfect example, and we’ve seen that sort of thing happen at the end of April, after many of the flowers have bloomed. And, snap! Everyone is back to being a February grump. That’s why I think it’s really important to focus on the little changes – the days that grow longer, those pregnant tree branches that are looking a little red and fuzzy around the edges, that first daffodil that you spot by the side of the road, the more frequent chirping of birds, and so on. Maybe I can trade this thick coat in for a jacket, and maybe I don’t need to wear a hat today. I get excited for these things, because even under all this Easter snow, the promise is still there.