BY CHRIS FRYMAN
The middle of March is that lovely time of year when the snow begins to melt, birds begin their trek back to the northern parts of the hemisphere and, if only for a moment, the sun shines and the temperatures become bearable once more. For somewhere between ten and fourteen days, it appears as though we’ve completed the treacherous Wisconsin winter and have now begun the quest through spring into summer.
That would be lovely if that were actually the case. In case you’ve forgotten, as I so foolishly have for the last week, we live in Wisconsin. Yes, the very same Wisconsin in which one can experience all four seasons, not only in the same week but also in the same day. The Wisconsin in which football games are played in weather that ranges from “sweet Jesus, I’m going to die of heatstroke” to “I had hypothermia before I stepped outside.”
Wisconsin winters are wholly and without a doubt the worst, most worthless weeks one would wish to weather in this wicked, wild world. They don’t call Lambeau Field the Frozen Tundra for nothing. And as if they weren’t bad enough, those morose months of mind-numbing, miserable cold get sandwiched in between two of the most wonderful, mild seasons that occur in the Midwest.
I’m positive that if you polled the people of this prestigious and pristine place of pondering, you’d find that the two most favorite seasons of the year are spring and fall. The answer I so desire belongs to the question, “Why?”
What is it that makes spring so appealing to everyone? Honestly, there just aren’t a lot of people out there in the cities or boonies of Wisconsin going “Yeah, winter! That’s my favorite season” and if they are, it’s because they’ve probably annihilated too many brain cells to realize how imbecilic they sound.
Sure, snow is fun and cute and romantic for about two weeks. Christmas snow is a must, but everything after that is as unwanted as that one annoying roommate you once had or vegetables at a summer barbecue. Winter wears out its welcome with the swiftness and skill of nothing this planet has ever seen before. Part of me believes that there’s just a dementor migration that occurs for three months out of the year because there is no happiness to be found in winter and it’s colder than Dolores Umbridge’s heart outside, but I digress.
Spring is the one time of the year where everything is being reborn. The leaves reappear on the formerly barren branches of the birches, beeches and buckthorns. The grass sheds its brown nastiness for a newer, brighter shade of green that matches the home jerseys of this state’s beloved football team. Above all of that, the rising temperature brings more than warmth to our senses but also thaws out the months of cold depression that had previously been residing inside all of us.
I suppose spring is cherished for many reasons. Some people eagerly await the return of baseball season, although I don’t know why, seeing as how no respectable team from the Midwest has won a World Series title in the last 500 years or so. Some people just like the warm weather so they can get out and enjoy nature, whether it be done by enjoying a game of Frisbee or a walk on the river. Some people may even just like the return of spring so that they can witness the passing of time.
Whatever the reason, it seems as though we’ll have to wait a little longer for spring to show its true face. The traditional first faux spring of Wisconsin has passed and, at least for the foreseeable future, it looks as though we’ve been blessed with the gift of just a bit more winter.
And yet, once spring does finally turn the corner and blast winter away to the icy depths of hell from which it came, we’ll all be thrilled that it did, for spring is never late, nor is it early; it arrives precisely when it means to.