Genuine Mainers embrace each change of season. Those who don’t invariably hail from places far from New England, like Texas, Florida, or Massachusetts.
The pleasure I derive from experiencing winter morph into spring is nearly equal to the joy I get from fantasizing about the event during the six long months that precede its actual arrival. I begin looking forward to spring’s annual return sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving of the previous year, depending on how early the first snow arrives. I’m not ashamed to admit that I savor every moment of that sweet anticipation. The satisfaction I get from putting my winter gloves in the closet, disassembling the roof rake, and consigning the snow shovels to the shed is indescribable.
Every change of season requires making certain specific adjustments.
For example, moving from spring into summer requires quick recalibration, because around here there are no more than six weeks’ worth of spring-like weather separating Maine’s extended winter from our increasingly-early-arriving summer. Fortunately the modifications necessary for this particular change of season are minimal, and generally pleasant. The biggest challenge the onset of summer presents is for parents of young children. Putting youthful offspring to bed at 8 PM during winter is a piece of cake, but the task becomes a tougher sell in late June, when it’s still light outside at that hour.
Similarly, shifting from summer to fall requires relatively little adjustment. Sweatshirts that had the summer off return to my sartorial rotation, while the cargo shorts I’d been wearing all summer get relegated to the back of the drawer. Before placing them there, though, I say a silent prayer that they’ll still fit when I awaken them from their hibernation the following spring.
Changing from autumn to winter mode is more labor-intensive. Stowing rakes, lawn mowers, bikes and sneakers and replacing them with wool hats, snow shovels, Bean boots and a reassembled roof rake is just the beginning. Adding three extra blankets to my bed is also a must, as is remembering to add another layer or two of clothing before I venture outside. It’s also important to stretch out last year’s winter gloves, assuming I can remember where I stashed them the previous April. Or, for total wimps, where they stashed them the previous May.
I’m perfectly happy when the air temperature is 55 degrees, 65 degrees, or any number of degrees between 55 and 65. I’m also capable of enjoying myself when the temperature climbs as high as 75, provided there’s a light breeze, or the sun has ducked behind some clouds.
However, on the 340 or so days each year when the temperature outside is not ideal, I’ll take “too cold” over “too hot” in a heartbeat. Even when Maine is at its chilliest, a few extra layers of clothing above the waist and an additional pair of socks are more than enough to compensate. But when the temperature climbs into the 90’s, as is the case at least half the year in every state in the nation south of New Hampshire, no amount of wardrobe adjustment can provide relief from the perpetually oppressive heat and humidity. I’ve lived several summers south of the Mason-Dixon line; the mildest of them was far more physically and mentally draining than Maine’s coldest, snowiest winter ever was.
Recently a so-called “friend” opined that I myself am a total wimp when it comes to weather, but nothing could be further from the truth. I anticipate enjoying every day this spring and summer to the fullest.
Unless of course the temperature falls below 55 degrees, or rises above 65.
Andy Young
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