When I started Fargophilia, I took a solemn oath to write only good things, and not complain – but the past two weeks have made it tough.
Spring doesn’t give me much to work with.
I’m one of those people who actually kinda enjoys winter and finds hot summers uncomfortable – which probably makes the Red River Valley the right place for me to have grown up. Mild summers are full of walks with the kids & dogs, sitting on the porch with my wife & a pack of wine coolers in the evening, going to the parks and playing basketball in the back yard, thunderstorms and morning rain. In the winter there’s skating and sledding, snow days, and (I hate to admit it) now that I’ve fixed the snowblower even clearing the sidewalks isn’t such a bad hour to spend outside. Not that I disliked shovelling, either; it just took a lot longer. Fall has school starting, Halloween, cooler evenings and the first snowfalls. Not much to complain about at all.
The climate, however, doesn’t handle the changeover from winter to summer very well. Spring is wet and muddy, so much that our terrier would rather poop inside than get its paws messy. Our dirt driveway, turned by the thaw into a monster-truck combat arena, becomes a worry about whether we’re going to get stuck and block all escape for us and the neighbors who share the driveway. Potholes crush our spine and force us to recall the lightning-sharp reaction time we developed in earlier springs to swerve around both holes and oncoming traffic. The flood, while not directly affecting our home, does cause a little worry about whether the sump pump will do its job when the worst happens, or if the easterly streets will be open or blocked by sandbags. Spring also steals away the Lost Hour of daylight savings time, not to be recovered until October rolls around.
I don’t outright hate spring, because it’s nice to take out the dogs without my parka and not be shivering when I get back in. Having streets back to their full width, unrestricted by snowdrifts, improves driving immensely, and at least gives more room to slalom potholes. This is also the six weeks celebrated as The Feast Of Small Utility Bills, the only time of year where we use neither the air conditioner nor the furnace. It’s also the time of year for planning summer events; we’re blended family, both divorced and with children shared with other households, so there’s a lot of visitation negotiations to occur. While we’re still holed-up in winter mode, we’ve got summer on our minds and are ready for it to arrive.
I’ve always thought spring happens very fast, as it did this year – first, there’s two feet of snow on everything, and in a couple days it’s all gone. Boom – the trees are suddenly green barely a couple weeks later, and then we’re having eighty degree days and the Dairy Queens are always packed. I suppose it’s not so bad. There’s something to complain about most everywhere, so if mud, floods, and potholes are all I have to worry about, I guess I’m doing alright. Spring is transition, the change from cold winter to warm summer, and its appeal is in the transition of our lives during that time. My wife, a hater of winter and all things cold or chilly, has only been out of the house for emergencies during the past five months. Lately the cabin fever has been eating at her, making her anxious to get out and take the dogs for long walks. The kids are making summer plans and counting the days until school ends. I’m gazing longingly at the new lawnmower I got for Christmas, still in it’s box. Optimism is the key to spring, and we can enjoy that.
