In much the same way a person decides to have Mexican instead of Italian for dinner, Wisconsin finally decided it was time for Spring.
With a “yeah, I guess that’s fine.”
Though given the fact that my spirit animal is a fish taco, I’d say those people need to learn about proper dinner choices, and how it was never a choice to begin with.
Wisconsin Spring is a cruel dance that entices you with shoes that aren’t boots and clothes that don’t include down or fleece and drives that don’t require you to make deals with God as your car won’t really stop because of the ice, and then rips it away from you like a tornado. But like…a tornado you wronged. You were like “don’t worry, tornado! I’m definitely going to bring you some Mexican food for dinner.” And then you forgot because you wanted to see what happens next on Grace and Frankie, and by the time you remembered, the tornado was already mad because it had to eat applesauce and noodles because that’s all we had in the apartment.
And that’s the exact amount of metaphorical drama Wisconsin Spring deserves.
Also, I’d like to have Mexican food for dinner. 20 metaphorical bucks to whoever can make it happen. Not metaphorically.
For about a month, Wisconsin has been swinging back and forth between almost-beautiful Spring, and almost-freezing rain.
And let’s face it, that easily cracks the top ten worst types of freezing rain.
But this week, it seems finally, finally, Spring has arrived.
Wisconsin heard our complaints and gave a “all right, fair enough. Here’s some sun.”
And with it, the grand reopening of my patio. You see, I call it a patio. It’s more of a cement patch. I’m like Brer Rabbit and his Carrot Patch, but less trickery and 100% more Herbert.
This is Herbert. He’s mostly useless, but he tries hard.
But I love my weird little cement patch. Once Spring decides to linger, my pots and plants and marginally green thumb and my will to live come out and I try my hand and growing things. I’ve had this patio for three Springs now, and this year will be my fourth. And each year my garden grows a little taller and a little less embarrassing.