I’m sick of winter. I hear that refrain in the locker room, on the sidewalk, and in the grocery store. Except of course, for the skiers. They couldn’t be happier. But the rest of us mortals are tired of shoveling snow, walking ever so carefully on the ice, and putting on layers and more layers of clothing. My boots now have a hole in them, my gloves are mismatched, and I still can’t find the right hat when I rush out the door in the morning only to get hit by a cold blast.
Now it is possible that even as we speak , the sap is beginning to run and we can all pause in our tracks and turn our faces to the sun. I hope so. This is one time when I wouldn’t mind my words sounding outdated. But let us not forget the winter of 2014. The lake froze over. At first, it was thrilling to see it all white washed. We walked on it, skied on it, and some ice skated on frozen patches. We got new views of the shore line, from a perspective only possible by boat in the summer time.
We joked about walking on water and gained a fresh appreciation of how water transforms itself from liquid to solid - very solid.
Even the timid ventured out on it. The lake revealed new possibilities in this winter of winters - snow drifts were like sand dunes, powered by the wind into graceful, sliding shapes.
And the mountains, snow capped and then snow capped again, layer upon layer. It was, in many ways, the most beautiful of winters. But by mid March, we began to be impatient. When will it end? When I complained about my cold fingers and toes, someone replied, “What do you expect, this is Vermont?”
Yes, this is Vermont. But even in our great state, we look forward to the change of seasons. Never, however, did I think I would look forward to mud season. This year, I do. Bring on the mud.
Even the robins seem out of kilter. I’ve seen flocks of them everywhere.
Perhaps they know what we don’t know, that spring, beautiful spring, really has arrived in Vermont.
