False Promises and Midwest Winters

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I hate false promises, and in the Midwest, February offers a false promise that winter is nearing its end.

January feels like an endless month, thirty-one days slamming us with frequent snowstorms and polar vortexes. After surviving this ordeal, it’s natural for Midwesterners to think February will be more manageable, at least shorter. February starts its promise with the suggestion that a groundhog in Pennsylvania can predict the coming of Spring, especially with the hope we won’t have six more weeks of winter if Phil doesn’t see his shadow. Have we ever seen winter end on February 2^nd? I don’t think so. Maybe a groundhog is the wrong animal for this important task. At the Milwaukee Zoo this year, keepers needed to send in a pinch-hitter because their groundhog died last year (was it murder?). A rhinoceros was selected to choose between two blocks – one with a cloud picture and one with a sun picture. The rhino picked the cloud, but it’s still winter.

Speaking of pinch-hitting, in late February, pitchers and catchers report to spring training camps in Arizona and Florida. What a sure sign of Spring! We see ball players stretching and jogging around green fields.  It’s just another false promise, conning us into thinking soon we’ll enjoy cold beverages while watching baseball in our local ballparks. In reality, fans attending the first games of the regular season are more highly to drink hot chocolate to battle the wind-chill factors and occasional snow showers.

No, February isn’t the end of winter in the Midwest. It’s closer to the middle. The late Kurt Vonnegut believed there are not four three-month seasons in the Midwest. He proposed the idea of six two-month seasons. Spring consists of May and June, offering extended daylight hours, budding trees, and glimpses of flowers emerging from the soil. Summer comes to play in July and August with trips to the beach and outdoor grilling. Tee shirts, shorts and sandals become standard wardrobe choices. Autumn takes place in September and October with the sports calendar turning to football while the leaves turn yellow, orange and red.

In Vonnegut’s model, winter is a six-month process. November and December form a season called Locking because life in the Midwest generally begins to slow down. Daylight hours shrink. Tee shirts, shorts and sandals are replaced by sweaters, down vests, and boots. Winter is most intense in January and February as evidenced by the sun setting well before dinner time, snowblowers failing to start after heavy snowfalls and street plows burying the mouth of my driveway multiple times a day. March and April gradually move us toward Spring in a season called Unlocking. Wind-chill factors still dominate the weather forecasts, and the remaining piles of dirty snow and ice begin to melt. The ground softens, emitting its earthy smell. So, February promises us Spring is almost here, however we still have three months to complete the winter process.

How can we survive this long, arctic ordeal? Some Midwesterners try to escape by heading south for the entire winter, with visions of long walks on beaches or of year-round golf. But with our current climate change, Jack Frost often heads south, too. For those of us who cannot afford months away from home, a week-long vacation southward might help, but returning home is always a cold, cruel awakening.

Other Midwesterners embrace winter. They head to the slopes for skiing or snowboarding. Many rev up their snowmobiles to drive through the woods (hopefully around the trees, not through them). Those who prefer limited physical activity in their winter sports slide their sheds on frozen lakes for ice fishing. Actually, these sheds are often well-equipped, like mini-living rooms, so much for roughing it.

In Winter, my natural tendency is to retreat the great, frigid outdoors. It’s to stay cozy inside to practice an activity best called “hunkering down.” This includes reading my way through a stack of books, putting together a couple of jigsaw puzzles, viewing hours of Brit Box programming and sipping endless cups of tea or hot chocolate. This isn’t as thrilling as risking a broken limb or two while cascading down a snowy mountain but staying serene indoors allows me to quiet my mind and soul to dream about what comes next in my life. This year, two major projects have emerged from my pondering.

One project is to write the sequel to my first novel, The Next Best Time, which was published last August. After taking a few months off from writing, I started to write again in November (the opening month of Locking). Thus far, the sequel has progressed in frequent starts and stops. Sometimes I enjoy reconnecting with the characters like being with old friends. Other times, I wonder what they will be doing next to create a story worth telling. As the sequel centers on Frank Collins in his first year of recovery, I think he may be headed for trouble because early recovery, like February, tends to offer a few false promises (and some true ones). To consider what Frank and his friends will do, I spend parts of my day in his world, set in 2020, the initial year of the COVID pandemic. It’s a frightening place to spend time.

I like the idea of also writing about our present time, although it too can be a frightening place. Creating this website allows me to sort through my reactions to current life, including a wide range of topics, impacting you and me. In the coming months, I plan to post blogs on recovery, retirement, mentoring, ongoing self-discovery, and the historic times in which we live. I offer no false promises, just my willingness to lean into the void to search for interesting topics. I hope you enjoy this journey with me.