The anticipation of that first season of the year is strong in the north. Sick of snow and the death of trees murdered by wind storm, we start by peeling off layers of thick clothes, heavy boots, and book our summer campsites. There is no retirement party for winter although our ice carving festivals, ski resort worship, and dog sled races surely must be missed as the thaw condemns them to rest. The gradual peek of the sun nudges us awake to new goals of 5k fun, lake dreams, and scents of a well placed garden. Temporarily, we forget what we’ve been through, masked by reckless hope, and descend into the meat of the year.
Missy R. Rogers
March 11, 2019