Who ever thought we would be wishing for mud season? At least mud is soft. The ruts don’t last and the potholes are temporary and you’re not as likely to slide across it. Rumbling along the Athens Road for the last week, I am amazed at two to three inch ice ruts and potholes. Well, of course, they will melt away, but how much damage will they do to my car or the road before they are gone? And, of course, with sub-freezing temperatures prevailing, they’re not going to disappear too soon. My road (I live off the “beaten-path”) is a smooth layer of slippery ice, except where we’ve sanded the corners and hills. I knew it was slippery when my trusty SUV opted to try a sideways maneuver when I intended to move straight ahead. And the hills can be a challenge if you hit the slick spots without popping into four-wheel-drive.
     Yes, it can be an adventure traveling from home to work every day in the middle of a Maine winter, AND certainly this winter. There is no way to call this an average winter. The fog one night this week proved that point. I’m not sure any of us know what average is any more.
     Many of us remember winters of multiple snowstorms or blizzards, snowbanks towering above our heads, the little orange balls on car antennas to be seen behind the snowbanks, and thickly-frozen ponds and lakes. We suffered heavy, felt-lined snowmobile boots, puffy coats, layered mittens and frosted windshields, glasses, and windows.
     We’ve lamented snowless winters for the lack of winter sports, snowmobiling, skiing, sliding, even snowshoeing, but rejoiced at the lack of boots, forgotten hats, even lighter coats. Then, of course, there are the people who believe an “open-winter” promotes more illness, colds, flus, etc. We’ve had winters with tulips breaking the soil in February only to have them freeze over again in March. Then there is the real fear that feet of snow topped with inches of rain will transform our rivers and streams into the Flood of ’87 all over again.
     It’s a hard call, but I think I like real winter. The ones Maine is known for…mounds of snow, yes, lots of shoveling and plowing, and hip-deep snow in the fields and woods. I can do without the ice and frozen dirt piles or the dirty snowpiles of spring weeks before they are due, or muddy footprints on my floors from all the sand on top of the ice.
     But heading into the last week of February, I am ready to see the light at the end of the tunnel. No I don’t really believe spring will arrive on March 20. I know we can get snow into April…but it will be April, followed by May and June and all the finer points of a Maine summer. It’s light in the morning and still hints of light after work in the evening…spring is coming. I can see past the ice, the snowbanks and barren trees. Once February has passed, the doom and gloom of winter becomes a memory and the promise of spring and summer is more apparent.

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Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved.