I don’t open two of my dresser drawers for more than half a year. Maybe I peek a couple of times in December and February just to remember what’s in there, but otherwise, the summer shorts and tops remain closed up in the dark for seven months.
That is one of the best things about living in Door County.
Not for me the monotony of constant sunshine and warm weather. Give me the long, winter hibernation followed by thawing, gray, drizzly days. These days, Mother Nature is throwing us bones to remind us we’re on Spring’s cusp. She tantalizes periodically with bright sunshine and breezes that carry warmth and the clean, fresh scent of evergreens, the dirt smell of the awakening earth.
Spring is inconsistent on our peninsula. Her awakening has distinct personalities. On the Lake Michigan side where our office is located, she’s reluctant and stubborn and cranky when awakened. On the Green Bay side where I live, she’s more eager and compliant and willing to embrace the early dawns. She gushes with flowering orchards and trees and sparkling waters on both sides once fully awakened.
At our house, we’re ready. Hoses are rehooked, new rows tilled, seeds and cold crops planted for broccoli, beets, turnips, radishes, rutabagas, etc., etc., etc. Tree plantings await; the garlic has long been up, and Tuesday night, we ate the first of our asparagus for dinner.
It’s happening. The wait is over, and it never ceases to inspire, revive and renew my mind, body and spirit, this perennial return of a peninsula spring.
The best part about it? For the next five months, I don’t open two of my dresser drawers where I store the fleece and wool and heavy cotton pullovers.