Six Inches of Spring

Like confectioner’s sugar, snow powdered down for 24 consecutive hours. Only it wasn’t so sweet, was it? I can’t remember ever hearing/seeing more complaints about a spring time snow storm. Man, are we tired of winter? We're apoplectic in our rage! Storm following storm, freezing our rivers, bays and streams.

But what, you just got here? This is spring! Spring on Long Island, baby! Eliot told you “April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land”. Easy for you to say, T.S. You left our shores for a home on the high side of 50°N, where spring is civilized. I learned that lesson visiting London one February with the daffodils in bloom, the roses in bud, and the grass green and cut.

Down here at 40°N, we know from cruel. Winter guarantees cold and bitter winds, so Eliot was right to say that, in its own convoluted way, "Winter kept us warm”. 

Spring, however, is expected to perform! Its failure leaves us pained and grieving. But if you don’t like our spring snow, just wait for 43°F and drizzly. And windy. For days. Because that’s what the cruelest months offer.

I'll argue the Northeast gets the latest Spring in the northern hemisphere, with the cold Atlantic keeping us in the fog and chill. Oh, we get those beautiful days in May and sometimes even in April, but they’re rare and fleeting. A tease. 

No, late June is when I finally get comfortable in this town. My bones warm by then and I'll inhale the fragrant scent of our air and listen for the racket in the trees, fully garbed at last. Spring has always been overrated, too fondly remembered. It’s the ultimate tease, brightening daily, but warming oh, so slowly. And that drizzle…. 

So I’ll survive this snow, knowing this is winter’s adieu. It’s the impending mist and chill of the next 90 days that I dread.