Spring (or whatever you are) I hate you

I’ll admit it: I struggle with winter.
My dad was a career Navy man, and I spent most of my childhood in warmer climates. I vaguely remember a small snowfall in Virginia when I was still a toddler, but my first real experience with a significant snowfall was as a teenager. For some reason, when my dad retired from the Navy, my folks decided to return to their roots in the Minnesota-South Dakota area, rather than in one of the tropically warm areas in which they were stationed.
Despite my tropical upbringing, I’ve never really minded winters, except when they’ve lasted eight months or more.
But winter is not my favorite Minnesota season. My favorite time in Minnesota is that blend of late summer and early fall, August and September, after the mosquitos have disappeared, the humidity is down and temperatures nicely warm in the afternoons.
My least favorite season is spring. At least in Minnesota.
In many parts of the United States, spring brings fragrant flowers, warm temperatures, and the first blush of new life.
In Minnesota, it brings rain, mud, snow, budding perennials that need to be covered when temperatures plummet below freezing, greening grass that is soon covered with another layer of snow (so both your lawn mower and the snow thrower are parked at the front of the garage), more rain, warm temperatures, cold temperatures, more snow, grass fires, floods, thunderstorms and an occasional tornado.
It’s a virtual potluck in which we have no choice in what gets put on our plate.
Friday afternoon, I wore shorts and a T-shirt for the first time this year as I raked my yard. Monday morning, I donned my winter parka as cold winds blustered through, bringing with them pelting sleet and even a little snow.
Spring, I will never write an ode to joy for you. Give me the dog days of August and the emerald skies of September. Even give me the cold and snow of winter — at least the weather is consistent.
But, as of today: spring, I hate you.