At the risk of alienating friends, family, co-workers, fellow drivers in the carpool line and the little old lady across the street, I will admit something: I’m not tired of winter yet. There, I said it out loud. Here in Northern Kentucky,we’ve had a pretty crackerjack winter. Lots of snow. Cold. Schools closing. Freezing Rain. And I’m a fan. My wife and I look at the masses forming on the weather channel’s Uber-super-ultra-doppler radar with as much enthusiasm as our 10-year-old. Our winters are generally pretty mild if you come at it from a Minnesota or Wisconsin perspective, so any chance to break out the sled or empty half a bag of marshmallows onto a mug of hot chocolate gets our hearts to thumpin’.
Don’t get me wrong, I love spring. Love it! I love the seed catalogs the mailman (er, letter carrier) brings me. I love those first soft golden days of 60 degree temperatures. I love planning the garden and getting out in the yard and seeing the first little green shoots of a crocus poking up through the earth. The buds on my forsythia bush are already starting to swell and that makes me happy, too. There may be no finer harbinger of spring than the forsythia — one of my grandmother’s favorites for that very reason. And because it was one of her favorites, it has become one of mine, too. Those sunny yellow branches never fail to remind me of her.
But I wouldn’t dread another good snow. Or two. I’m not ready to stow away the wool sweaters and flannel pjs just yet.
(Side note to anyone with a forsythia. Do not attempt to trim into any kind of geometric shape…this is a plant that needs to flow freely. Seriously. I see some people (Phil!) trying to turn this hippy of a plant into a conformist box hedge and it’s…well, it’s rather beastly.)