The countdown to spring has begun. Admit it: if you live anywhere in the Northeast, you’ve had Sunday’s date circled on your calendar since that rotten little rodent decided to hunker down for another six weeks back in February.

Here in D.C., snowdrops poked their heads out in mid-February. And then were promptly covered with snow.

Growing up in southern New England, you expect winter to last until mid-March, when the calendar says it will. In fact, you’re generally prepared for winter to leave kicking and screaming, dumping a foot or so of snow on you during the first week of April just out of spite.

D.C. is a mere six hours south of where i grew up in Connecticut, but it might as well be worlds away. South of the Mason-Dixon line, it embraces its role as a national city by taking on the worst traits of the South and the North. It combines the rudeness of New York with the sluggishness of Mississippi. (I should go into writing tourism slogans — “Visit Washington, D.C., the rudest, slowest place in America!”)

Weather tolerance definitely sides on the southern end of things. You start seeing people in full-length wool coats — complete with hats, gloves, and scarves — at the beginning of October, when the daytime highs begin to dip into the upper 60s. So when it actually gets cold, as it invariably does in January or February (or, this year, March), these people just have no place else to go in their wardrobes.

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, “That’s a crocus,”
And I said, “What’s a crocus?” and you said, “It’s a flower,”
I tried to remember, but I said, “What’s a flower?”
You said, “I still love you.”

(From Dar Williams’ “February”)

This year, i’m tired of waiting. I want spring to come and i want it now. I’m ready for buds and leaves and flowers. (I remember what a crocus is — but just barely.) I’m ready to leave behind my snow clogs and my wool coat and my hand-knitted scarf. I’m ready for March to go out like a lamb, for April showers, and for May flowers. I’m ready.

The countdown has begun…

Currently reading: Summerland, written by Michael Chabon and bought at Jay’s Bookstall in Pittsburgh