It is late fall and the temperature drops just enough for the precipitation to turn from pestery rain into beautiful, soft, magical snowflakes and you think “Ah, this is a gorgeous blessing from the heavens!”
November arrives, you leave the pumpkins out to freeze for just a couple more weeks. You start buttoning up the house and making the kids try on last year’s snow gear. Excitement fills the air as you tuck in stick season and prepare for winter in Vermont.
December, January, February – three glorious months! You enjoy sledding the rolling hills, skiing the green mountains, and ice skating on ponds and outdoor community rinks. It is idyllic and serene, and you can’t imagine living anywhere else in the world!
Then comes March. You’ve done all the things. The sleds are scuffed, the skate blades are dull, your skis need a tune, but you decide to wait. The season is clearly winding down. But then Mother Nature, in her forgetful perimenopausal state, forgot to change the thermostat, so what should have been lovely, refreshing Spring showers became eight honking inches of heavy, wet snow.
And you think, “D’oh! I should have known better, that was fool’s spring.”
So by April you feel, “We’re on the right track!” The temperature is steadily increasing, the snow is melting (again), the basement is damp, and you’re doing laundry for twelve even though you’re a family of four. Alas! Mud season is here.
And then… And then. April showers bring… May flurries?! Screw this. I’m moving to Hawaii.
