Granted, I never put much stock in the weather predicting abilities of rodents, but in the dismal chill of early February, any bit of good news is cause for hope. A woodchuck or a meteorologist? Take your pick--the accuracy is about the same. But here in the dismal chill of late March, my patience begins to run thin...
Except for two years in subtropical Asia, I have always lived in a climate with discernible, contrasting seasons. The changes in temperature, weather, and vegetation have marked chapters in my life, as well. I like the variance--it keeps things fresh for a girl addicted to change. But I do have one complaint. At least here in the Great Lakes region (and also the Midwest where I grew up), the seasons aren't of proper length. Winter and summer test our patience with their extremes of temperature and duration, while the lovely, temperate Spring and Fall seem to get up and excuse themselves right when you were enjoying their company the most.
I have some advice for the seasons, if they're interested in being appreciated to the fullest possible extent: keep within the bounds of three months a piece. It's only fair.
Just imagine...just as Fall has run its course at November's end, Winter tantalizes us with that first dusting of snow, building up to an oh so cozy White Christmas. Even the worst of cold weather critics couldn't object to a predictable period of snow and ice through February, where at least we have some holiday diversions to occupy our attention. A snow day or two is a nice novelty... Then, just as we're feeling proud of our winter endurance--
March arrives! Enter Spring, with mud and flowers and new buds and crazed wildlife. Never was an old friend more welcome, with the advent of baseball, fresh air, and increased sunlight--thawing hearts along with the ground. Now imagine THREE SOLID MONTHS of this heaven...with what cheer would we welcome the next season, having had our fill of planting, wooing, and three-quarter length sleeves...
Summer would arrive in timely fashion, right as the school year ends, and vacation plans begin. Sure, the weather would be hot, but is that not expected in June, July and August? A few months to show off the fruits of winter workouts (right?!) and float through the outdoor festival season in gauzy threads (okay, perhaps that's just me...). But you get the idea. And a little heat provides an excellent opportunity for us Midwesterners to do something we're really skilled at: complain about the heat. Can you even remember what winter felt like? I think these must be record temperatures. Time to get out the Slip 'n' Slide. (or insert your favorite complaint here). We gotta give the people what they want. And anyway, you won't have to hear it for very long, because everyone would be assured that once September arrived, we'd be securely in the arms of...
Aaaaahhhh, Autumn. As it's my favorite, I saved it for last. For me, the smells, tastes, and sights of this season are the sweetest and most savory. I could live in Fall for quite some time. But even pumpkins, bonfires, and crunching colored leaves have their limit--imagine eating crème brûlée every day. Would it not lose some of its charm? And so, I'd be satisfied with three full months of Autumn delights, feeling I'd had a proper serving of enchantment, sufficient to see me through the dormant days to come.
Well, seasons, what do you think? A fair enough proposal? You each get three equal months in which to wow us with your splendors. And just as we reach the tipping point, you gently exit, a wistful "see you next year" in your wake. We get the benefit of missing you, and you leave feeling fully appreciated. So what do you say?
The stillness of a 23° March morning seems to be the only reply.
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My perfect design
Of well-apportioned seasons:
Everybody wins
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