The snow on the ground is sucking my will to live. And yes, I KNOW. It snows here every dang April. The Easter Bunny had to hide the eggs in the house the past two Easters because of the snow. Every year at this time I find myself quoting Anne of Green Gables ("'Snow in April is abominable," said Anne. 'Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.'"). The other day my neighbor said, "Once the forsythia start blooming and it snows one more time, then it will really be Spring." And she's right; that's what always happens. It doesn't mean I have to LIKE IT.
Our kitchen table is temporarily covered with seedlings desperately stretching toward our teeny kitchen window. I have bags of asparagus and rhubarb roots waiting to be planted. The daffodils are dusted with snow. The robins wake us up in the morning tweeting, "What the...?" The coat closet is a jumble of snow gear, rain boots, umbrellas, and sweatshirts. Getting dressed in the morning is like some kind of lame Weather Roulette. What type of precipitation can we expect today? Will the temperature vary by 20 or 40 degrees? It's anybody's guess! Step right up and choose your outerwear!
Now that my sister lives in a southern state, she says that when Spring comes she doesn't feel as if she earns it, that it arrives too easily. This week we are still struggling to earn our Spring. And if it doesn't come in time, we'll make our own temporary one. We will dye rainbow-colored eggs and make dairy-free Easter chocolates and construction-paper bunnies. We will wear pastel sweaters on Easter Sunday and decorate the dining table with forced forsythia branches. We will celebrate Easter and know that Spring will come.