I have a rule in February, which is that I cannot even mumble about the approach of Spring. It's February. It's winter. Period.
And that wasn't so difficult this February, what with all the snow. In fact, I didn't even see our lawn for the entire month.
But then Saturday, the calendar turned to March. And, magically, we started to thaw out. The yard turned into one big, swampy mess, with puddles of standing water on top of thin layers of unmelted ice.
And I look at the calendar and see that Daylight Savings Time starts in 5 days (in the United States), Spring starts in 16 days, and Easter arrives in 19 days.
And now I see myself entering that seemingly endless wait for Spring.
The problem is, in the Chicago area, Spring doesn't arrive with a gradual increase in temperature. No, Spring is measured in the ratio of cold days vs. warm days. One day it'll be snowing, the next it'll be 70 degrees, and the next freezing again, with some fantastic thunderstorms and windstorms thrown in for good measure. Two months of teasing us until at least May 1, when we can be confident that it won't snow again.
But, today, it's only March 4. And as the snow melts away, I start looking at the landscaping in the back yard, wondering what the dogs have managed to trample, and when I can get out there and do a Spring cleanup.
In a few weeks, the grass will start to green up, and in a few more weeks, the trees will start to bud. But at the moment, it's pretty darn ugly outside.