I’m experiencing my first spring in 30 years and, honestly, I think the season is over-rated. No snow to speak of (I love snow). The golf course has golfers on it (the NERVE!) It’s not safe to open the sprinklers (which I can’t find and want to find before I set down the raised beds) and it’s not safe to plant anything and we badly need rain and what’s the point of this noncommittal silliness? Spring is for patient people who are in love with possibility or who have bulb plants and flowering trees. I’m all about realization and I didn’t get here in time to plan spring bulb plants.
Wondering if I were all alone in this odium de printemps, I googled “I hate spring,” and I read an article just now (“Confession: I Hate Spring in Philadelphia. For a season that’s barely pleasant, spring is plenty smug. What has it done for you lately?”) It hit my nail on the head, especially here:
“If you’re having a bad day in January, you haven’t necessarily failed — everyone is having all of the bad days in January. If you’re having a bad day in April? You’re in a party-of-one rut that’s not in line with the prescribed cheeriness of the season.”
Well, nature’s nature and it doesn’t avail much for me to hate this since I have to wait it out, but…I do.