Spring and Snowflakes

Had a pretty good feeling that it would snow on the first day of spring this year. Having been born and raised in the Midwest, I know that this is fairly common. I also know, however, that snow on the first day of spring is usually the last snow, or close to it. March is a funny month. You can beware the Ides, or you can get smart and just beware the entire 31 days.

Two days ago, Mother Nature was teasing us with temperatures near 70, and full sunshine. On Thursday evening, Kat and I took a long walk after work—the first I’ve taken outside since fall. As the sun headed west, the temperatures dropped rather swiftly, but it still felt amazing to be out in the sunshine. The lake path was bustling, some of the fencing along the sand had already been removed, and a group of die-hard volleyball players were manning a net on the beach. That day, everyone joked about the beautiful weather, and the impending weekend snow. Sure enough, I awoke to see the heavy snowflakes falling this morning, and they’ve remained steady all day.

Okay, snow. Bring it on. Because soon—so soon you can already smell it in the air—summer will descend upon Lake Michigan, Millennium Park, the Mag Mile, and all will be well in Chi-town. In fact, all already is well, as the excitement for the season builds and Chicagoans increasingly take to the outdoors. In fact, last night one of my friends mentioned that they’d seen the first sailboat of the season out on the lake this week. Sally forth, lone sailboat. Soon, you’ll be joined by many others. We can hardly wait.

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. ;)