You might have seen the charts floating around Facebook or elsewhere that list the true seasons of our region. Most of them follow winter with some version of "fool's spring," or "false spring," followed by things like "second winter," "spring of deception," "third winter," "mud season," and even "actual spring," followed by summer.
Growing up in Montana, that period of false spring always got me. I remember February days where I'd grab my ball glove and head out to the yard to throw pop flies to myself, dodging small piles of snow and puddles of water. This would be the year, I'd think, where we have all of our softball practices outside and no games get canceled because of snow or cold. We wouldn't have to put new calves in the warmer, and they'd all frolic in the corrals or even the green grass. And Dad would certainly be planting soon!
And then, a day or two later, it would snow. Or the temperature would dip back down. Or the wind would pick up and make it feel 30 degrees colder. Softball practice would be relegated to the gym. Calves would go in the warmer. Planters would stay in the shed.
I'm older now — and you'd think smarter. Plus, I live in North Dakota, where winter can feel never-ending. Certainly, those brief warm days of late February or early March aren't still fooling me?
Of course they are.
After a few weeks (though it seemed like months) of bitterly cold temperatures, the weather pattern changed suddenly, and our temperature swung something like 80 degrees. The swing was greater still at my parents' ranch in Montana, where nearly two feet of snow disappeared almost overnight. The little snow we had on the ground in central North Dakota largely disappeared, albeit leaving ice and mud in its place. Some green grass started to poke up through the old thatch. The wind calmed. The sun came out. I checked heifers without my coveralls. I played catch with my girls in the yard — and even had the audacity to tell my older daughter that maybe her first season of middle school softball would get to be played all outside. As if I've learned nothing!
While the bitterly cold temperatures didn't return, some amount of winter has. The wind blows. The temperature remains below freezing. And I've even seen snowflakes in the air a few times.
Why do I fall for it, year after year? I think it's just the little glimmer of optimism that lives inside of me. It's not just me. I read this quote from Ernest Hemingway's memoir, "A Moveable Feast," that summed it up nicely: “When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.”
I haven't read Hemingway's memoir, but it's going on my list, because clearly he felt it, too. Even if you know it can't last, it's impossible to resist the lure of warmer days.
We're sitting at second winter now, I suppose. More deceptive seasons will follow. I'll keep falling for it, because eventually it will be real spring. Or, just as likely, we'll go straight into summer. But in any case, the grass will truly be green. I will be able to put away my coveralls. The calves really will be warm and dry. Planting will begin.
We can't live without some amount of optimism, even when current days seem hard and long and cold and dreary. The lure of false spring will always get me, because I'll keep expecting better days to come.