by Amy McGarry
Can we talk about the weather again? As disappointed as I was in the lack of snow this winter, I was delighted at the beginning of February to see not only crocuses, not only daffodils, but also tulips sprouting up through the earth. If we’re not going to have a real winter, let’s go ahead and move on, shall we?
One particularly sunny, warmish day this past February, I got so excited for spring that I rolled down my windows and opened up my sunroof. It snowed that night. Thank goodness I went out to get the mail and noticed I had left my sunroof open.
February never fails to bring us a few days of warm sunny weather, tricking us into thinking spring is here. To check my memory vs. science, I looked it up. “False spring” is a thing. It doesn’t just trick us humans into thinking spring has arrived. It tricks tulips and all kinds of other plants. They feel the premature warmth in their little planty veins and say, “Hey! It’s time to shoot up and reveal our green beauty to the world!” Then, it snows.
I’m impatient for spring because winter ‘25/’26 seemed especially gray and dreary to me. Each morning, going outside, looking up to see yet another gray, cloudy sky, felt very much like the movie Groundhog’s Day. It made me feel desperate for spring. And if you are as big of a fan of Punxsutawney Phil, as I am, right now you’re saying to yourself, “Sorry, lady. Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow on Feb. 2. We all know what that means. Six more weeks of winter.”
While I do love that handsome, chubby chap, furry Phil and I have a relationship that is what you might call…complicated. As with all of my relationships, I’m happiest when he tells me what I want to hear. Needless to say, I am not happy with Phil. You might say when it comes to Phil, I’m a “fair-weather friend.” Fickle and flighty by nature, I’m no faithful follower of Phil. I don’t even know why we listen to the guy. He has only been correct 30% to 35% of the time predicting an early spring or extended winter. That’s worse reliability than flipping a coin.
Enough about Phil since February is finally finished. Let’s move on to March.
On the calendar, March is the first month of spring. But does March really count as spring? March is in the winter quarter on my community college teaching calendar, so, is it? Or isn’t it?
The answers is, yes, it is. And it isn’t. March is an even more paradoxical month than February. Here in the Inland Northwest, March teeters between frost and thaw, wind and sun, all the while cloudbursts of sudden showers are always a blink of an eye away. And yet, the days in March always do stretch a little longer and mornings are a little brighter. What is this sensation in my chest? It feels vaguely familiar. Could it be…hope?
As if the calendar itself is impatient for spring, March gives the day a little shove, a little “spring forward” on March 8, the start of daylight saving time. Talk about paradoxes! First, we feel groggy and exhausted with the change of the clock in spring, making us irritable and stressed. After a few days of adjustment, longer evening daylight boosts mood, energy, and motivation with more activity and higher serotonin levels. And, we still have to contend with unpredictable March weather.
However, once we’ve survived the tumultuous first weeks of March, we finally land on one of the most magical celestial events of the year – the spring equinox. Occurring on the 20th this year – the miracle of the motions of the sun and Earth gives us a brief span in which day and night stand in perfect balance. From this day forward, after months of dwelling in darkness, night gives sway as day takes its rightful place of dominance.
So regardless of the weather, let’s call March spring. Let’s practice patience in the paradox of March, where “March many-weathers can be both spring and winter.” (Kamran Mofid, poet). This uncertainty which feels unstable is really just the stirrings of change. Let’s practice trust in the rhythms of nature, knowing light inevitably returns again. Let’s feel hopeful. Every sprout, every ray of sun, a promise of what’s to come.
“Just as plants lean toward the sun, humans instinctively respond to the promise of brighter days. Hope, after all, is a form of light, and March teaches us how to turn toward it even when the ground beneath our feet is still cold.” -Anonymous