Only Sweeter For The Cold

Someone recently remarked that once July 4th is over, it seems, so also, is summer. In the moment, it was a rather sobering notion for me. By far, I enjoy the warmer months to the bleak and bitter months of winter. I get in the mood for snow right after Thanksgiving, when thoughts of Yule tide, sleigh bells and spiced hot apple cider begin to distract. When bundling up in cozy sweaters, a handmade scarf, thick stockings and tall boots sounds like a fun fashion transition from flip flops and tank tops.

But then Christmas comes and goes, down come the festive lights, and the guilt from weeks of fudge and fruit cake gluttony sets in, and before you know it, the new year is upon you and you’re staring ahead at roughly 12 long weeks of the coldest, most empty time. That’s when I’m no longer in the mood for winter.

As far as I’m concerned, once Christmas is over and all the decorations are stored away again, spring might as well start right then. We could pack away the parkas and snow boots and ice scrapers right along with the tree ornaments. Tucked away until next December.

Now it just so happens it was nearly 100 degrees outside when that comment was made about summer ending with the fourth of July, but it still sent a chill down my spine—the thought of winter looming just beyond a couple page flips of the calendar. Because then, we all know, by some evil trick, time slows to a crawl before we get to spring again.

I’ve lived in other areas where winters are mild—where when people refer to “the cold” they aren’t talking about the kind of cold that has you scraping frost from your windshield in the biting wind, starting your car twenty minutes before you plan to leave just to defrost the windows and thaw out the seat. When people in warm climates talk about “the cold” they’re talking about the serious aggravation of having to put on closed-toe shoes instead of sandals, and the annoyance of needing to grab a jacket before leaving the house. It’s surprising how quickly and easily one slips into that mode once you’ve been removed from the possibility of sub-zero temps and horizontal snows. I was one of them once upon a time…

It was Oscar Wilde that said, “And all at once, summer collapsed into fall.” And so it will…but not yet. There are still several weeks to enjoy the summer smells of fresh-mowed lawns and sweet meadow hay, the cheery sight of colorful flowers waving in the breeze, and the delicious messiness of dripping ice cream. There’s time yet to lounge in the river, nap in the backyard hammock, founder yourself on watermelon, and laugh yourself sick around a fire pit with friends. All of which are made only sweeter in the knowing that Old Man Winter is never very far away.