Another Excerpt from My Next Book
The sun is shining, but the wind is still blowing. I’m wondering how long it will be before I can sit on our porch without a coat. Spring here in Montana is not like the ones I grew up with in Arkansas. Filled with blooming flowers and singing birds.
Here, it’s mostly still brown, and the trees’ limbs are bare. Some of my friends have a few crocuses peeking out. Maybe I need to plant some of those. The daffodils I planted when we moved into this house have stopped coming up or blooming.
This is the hardest time of year for me, March and April. We’ve been in the grip of winter since late October, usually. So desperate for spring, but it comes so slowly—bits of sunshine, interspersed with clouds, rain, wind, and even snow.
“Please, just come for good,” I say. But it doesn’t. Just keeps playing hide-and-seek. What I call spring won’t get here until after Mother’s Day. It will last a week or three, and suddenly it will be summer for six weeks, if we’re lucky.
I guess it really is true that the four seasons here are Winter, June, July, and August.
But there are a couple of good things about long winters. First, the mountains look more impressive covered in snow. And second, while driving in the mountains and foothills, you can see more of the vistas when the trees don’t have their leaves yet.
Everything has its price.