My Third Favorite Season...
and how this spring stole my heart
For as long as I can remember, spring has always been my third favorite season. My order was, and remains:
Autumn (I’m a photographer, can you blame me?)
Winter (the more snow the better)
Spring (I mean, it’s lovely but here comes…)
Can I please migrate to the other hemisphere where it’s winter for a few months?
It’s not that I don’t love spring, per se, but it foretells summer. Or forebodes if you’re me, as, sadly, this Finn’s body responds to heat as does a stick of butter in a hot frying pan.
SPRING, for those too young or equatorially proximal to have experienced one, once began like the stretching of a cold rubber-band with temperatures slowly expanding and contracting with lengthening days. We transitioned our wardrobes steadily from layers, heavy knits and cozy mittens, shedding one at a time until we wore mostly layers of sweat, sunscreen, and — if you were really, really lucky — fine particles of beach sand in your hair.
And in the in-between you couldn’t put away layers completely as you could still get anything — rain, cool, warm, snow, wind, heat, hail — a random wheel spinner of weather to usher in the seasonal shift of our swiftly tilting planet.
But spring is disappearing.
Thanks to a warming climate, the physical phenomena of spring are vanishing — snowpacks are forming late and melting (or evaporating) early, and the gentle creep of temperatures over a three month span has been reduced, and the trend is startling.
Last year, Denver’s first 100ºF day was June 11th.
The creep of summer heat has a myriad of dire consequences. Pollen season is longer and more intense, increasing allergies and even causing new allergies in people who’ve never had them (again, me). Drought is deepening across the west and the Colorado River is running dry. Fire-season is becoming fire-always as beetles turn forests to standing graveyards (winters no longer long or cold enough to kill beetle larvae) and this combination of heat, drought, gale-force winds and human ignorance can now cause a wildfire to rip a football-field’s-worth-of-area every three minutes, consuming over a thousand structures in an urban setting, five days after Christmas.
But I’m writing today to share a bright spot.
To preserve the memory of said bright-spot forever (or at least as long as Substack exists). Because anomalies (flashbacks?) do still exist.
And my friends the spring of 2023 was glorious. Luscious, dramatic and an absolute stand-out (nostalgic) favorite.
After the past several years — when heat grabbed the mic before winter had a chance to even take center-stage — this year, spring came out of retirement and stole the show. She snuck in quietly at first, following cues from an old script, then grabbed her place in the spotlight and started belting out operatic tones and electric delight…
Welcome to Seattle! many sun-spoiled Coloradans whined (ironically Seattle has seen record heat and drought this year) when from early May through June 17 we enjoyed moderate — SPRING-LIKE — temperatures and passing storms almost every day.
And I need to enter these details into the digital record, however literary or useful my meandering thoughts may be, lest I (we) ever forget how vibrant spring once was.
Observations from my walking commute over the past six weeks:
Everywhere you look has burst forth vibrant green. GREEN, so much green:
WILDFLOWERS — I’ve walked the same trails for years and I’ve never seen such an array of variety or color (unless you count trash that is weirdly less prevalent this year so let’s add that to the benefits of spring — less trash?):
RIVERS overflowing — I mean how can you not love this?? Banks gushing, sand on sidewalks, pulsing waves right in the city full of snowmelt and rain and ionized air in the sweet-smelling breeze:
Gathering CLOUDS — three-dimensional and full of drama, structure, energy, excitement and story (and hail1 — sorry for everyone filing insurance claims) — as a photographer I LOVE LOVE LOVE drama in the skies:
Did I mention GREEN — everywhere, too many shades to count — spores and stems and buds and leaves and grasses and sprouts. Seriously get down and notice these little details sometime — they are incredible — and these are basically on the sidewalks in the city:
Vibrant sense of aliveness up and down — I’ve even spotted mushrooms thriving in the undergrowth — IN THE CITY
TEMPS have, weirdly, been appropriate for spring — 50s at night, 60s to 70s during the day (also known as: perfect!)
Happy BEES — full, fuzzy, bright orange and yellow pollen pockets and flowers everywhere for them to service
Sunshine AND rain every day — which means also: rainbows
SMILES — I know not everyone has been happy with the rain every day, but I learned long ago never to curse the rains living in drought / wildfire country
UMBRELLA — after years and years of owning one, I finally got to use it!
Friends, the new normal is: nothing is normal.
And I interpret this to mean that the new normal is: grab joy and gratitude when and where you can. If you get an anomalous day or season or year, appreciate it, document the crap out of it, find the beauty.
In the meantime, I hope you’ll join me in leaving Good Footprints whenever and however we can in effort — and with hope — that spring may not disappear forever.
Did you have a spring where you are? Are seasons changing in your experience?
As an aside, did you know that the Front Range in Colorado experiences the biggest hail on the planet? Apparently hail reaches a maximum girthy sweet-spot, growing as it first falls and gloms with other hail-friends, and then shears and diminishes in size as it continues its descent, and here on the Front Range, we sit in the altitudinal sweet-spot
So we need to invest in property together somewhere and divide up the year?
Just read the June was the rainiest since the 1880's!!!
I am...hopefully WAS, at this point, one of those whining people. I'd like to think it's because winter was brutal for me. I was ready to leave CO for 3 months starting Dec 1 and hung on by my fingernails fighting my mood and my constant panic to find escape. Ask me how many hows I spent googling the warmest place I can drive to...So when spring didn't come with the usual sunshine it was tough. I did learn that if it's over 65 degrees and pouring I don't need to run. That's good news. But the glory of spring rain, the joy of greenery leaves and more happy flowers than I ever remember is worth it. Yes, I said it. But winter? MEH.