Frozen Toes and Warm-Weather Treats*

It has been my observation that Midwesterners are a little crazy about the changing of seasons. They have a way of forcing the seasons regardless of the weather. I’m not saying I’m an exception to this generalization, but here is my case in point:

Mr. Freeze—perhaps the most popular seasonal ice cream joint in Toledo—opened about a week ago. Granted, we’ve had some beautiful days since then, but today it was cold, cloudy and damp. The high was 48 degrees. At some point in the day, my mom decided that it would be fun for us to go to Mr. Freeze after dinner. Honestly, I was already cold when she suggested it so the idea sounded almost ludicrous, but who am I to refuse ice cream?

So, we climbed in the van and headed toward Mr. Freeze, the temperatures falling with the sunset. As we approached the stand, we were surprised by the crowds. Lines of people, bouncing or shifting to keep warm, spilled out into the parking lot, snaking from each available window. I couldn’t believe that so many people had come out for ice cream in the 40-degree weather, and was even more shocked to find myself in this crowd (I couldn’t be this impractical, could I?). I bounced on my heels, hands shoved deep in my pockets, pulling my winter coat even tighter over my sweatshirt. My gaze shifted back and forth from chattering teeth and huddled customers to the scrumptious sundae descriptions plastered across the windows. I laughed aloud at the absurdity of the scene. But I did not lose my place in line.

When we finally made it to the window to order, I had mixed feelings about my ice cream. It was going to taste amazing; my mouth watered at the sight of orange and vanilla all tangled up together, but I was already shivering, without using precious body heat to melt bites of ice cream. It didn’t take long, though, for me to opt for taste over temperature and dig in. In the van we had some relief from the chilly breeze, and I continued to watch the people lined up outside. This was when I decided that Midwesterners are a little crazy about spring. I saw three people in shorts, a woman in a white skirt and a short-sleeved shirt, and countless customers without jackets. While my lips shivered against my ice cream, I shook my head in disbelief.

The calendar says it is spring, yes. We all want it to be spring, indeed. But I don’t care what you want or what the calendar says—if it’s in the forties and it snowed earlier in the week, it’s not spring: even if you pull on a pair of shorts and stand in line for ice cream without a coat. Yet, at the same time, I completely get it. I’m not going to be foolish and catch my death just for the taste of spring/summer (that’s what Mr. Freeze is, after all), but I’m sure as hell going to get my taste. It’s April 10, already. If I can’t manufacture the warmer temperatures, the sunshine, and the smells of springtime, I’m at least going to go to Mr. Freeze and eat ice cream until my upper lip goes numb—and it did. My toes are still frozen and the goose bumps are still fading as I write this. But it was worth it.

*I’m on “vacation.” It won’t be long before I’m Chicagoing again. Bear with me until my return. ;)