Welcome to the season of fretting.
Having felt temps in the 60s, we no longer can complain about winter, yet can't quite trill about spring. We may have lost our last mitten, but the sudden shift in temperature makes us fretful.
Do I need my parka? Or an umbrella? Sandals? (Too soon.) Will it snow again? Is winter really over?
Suddenly, strings of Christmas lights look a little desperate, like barflies who remain until last call. As much as we bemoaned winter's pallor, there's no beauty in snow's early exit. When we hear "fifty shades of grey," we think of late-winter landscapes.
Matted grass is plastered to the ground like a bad comb-over. The garden reveals a sodden ad circular touting Black Friday sales. Dog owners know better, but are nonetheless aghast. A perverse nostalgia for winter may arise.
Resist the urge.
Consider, instead, Jim Gilbert's approach to the shoulder season. He's a longtime naturalist whose notes on nature appear in newspapers, on radio and in his own books. He keeps a thoughtful log of what sprouts, sings or scuttles through his surroundings near Lake Waconia, bolstered by kindred observers around the state.
A woman in Swan Lake, for instance, let him know about a squadron of Canada geese that flew through on March 8, the year's first recorded sighting here. Gilbert notes how red osier dogwood bark has started to photosynthesize, turning bright red.