Growing up on a farm in Southern Ontario made me keenly aware of the changing seasons. The start of spring will always be my favourite. In my youth, it began in mid-March, when something would spark in me a joyful hooray-winter’s-over feeling.
I still get that feeling every year.
When I was very young, that moment came when I could jump into puddles without having to break ice first. Later, it was prompted by pussy willows, crocuses, snowdrops, or the water running in the creek after months of frozen immobility. A few times it struck during Easter picnics: lunches of chocolate only, while basking in the sun on a dry log.
Sure, brief periods of snow and cold sometimes followed, but those were temporary blips; I knew I had the upper hand on winter.
Childhood triggers for Ms. Fluffster’s “IT’S SPRING!” moments
When we moved to the West Coast, I expected to feel that spring moment at the same time as I did in Ontario. Our first January here was an eye-opener. We’d had a soggy November (it poured all day, every single day), followed by colder temperatures and a single snowfall in December. The snow brought the whole city to its knees, much to my amusement.
I also giggled about all those folks out there wielding umbrellas to keep off the snow. How silly is that? I thought back then. I’ve since learned that because Vancouver snow is so often mixed with rain, an umbrella is actually useful. I use one myself now.
The day of that snowfall, we saw something like this being pulled along the street. An umbrella going for a sleigh ride. When we walked past, we realized that a small child was hidden underneath.
When January started, we expected more of the same. Instead, the sun got warmer and temperatures rose. In the second week of the month, I was pleasantly surprised by rows of brightly coloured primroses outside our local grocery store. For the first time ever, my spring feeling arrived early. I tried to suppress it. Surely I was mistaken? But as the weeks wore on, the weather only improved, trees budded, and crocuses popped up everywhere. By the end of February, it felt like late March in Ontario.
Sure, a few cold days followed, but it no longer felt like winter.
With more than 30 West Coast winters under my belt, I’m convinced — despite that pesky official March 21 date — that spring unofficially arrives here in January. I try not to gloat over it to friends and relatives back East, but sometimes I can’t resist sharing photos of the flowers that pop up here two to three months earlier than they do in southern Ontario. I’m only human, after all.
This year is no different. I had two triggers this year; first, the magnolia buds on a street nearby. Note the clear blue sky above them.
Second, the grocery store primroses, below (and at the top of this post).
We recently endured a week of dense chilly fog, but then a run of sunny weather brought with it the triggers above, along with my light-hearted spring feeling.
I’m sorry, Ontarians. It’s minus 30, and you’re still buried under snow. I just can’t help myself.
* Agricultural Working Boots by Florent B and Easter Willow by icon 54 from NounProject.com
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