Reared, as I was, ’round the Great Lakes and the scrambling coal-seamed crags of top-most Appalachia, I always thought that the notion of seasonal equality was nuts. As a kid, there were two big seasons, summer and winter. These made specific, scholastic-driven demands on one’s clothing and schedule. And then there were the other two little seasons, spring and fall, that filled the gaps in between.
Later on, I came to love wet-walk wallowing in the crumbling air of autumn, and to yearn for the seed-starting days of spring. Nature’s fleeting faces always turning too soon, a dance-floor lover leaving for a new tune just as you’d started to find your groove.
Still, in my mind, summer and winter should be allotted a full four months, despite the niceties of astronomical alignment. The geometric symmetry of solstice and equinox have little bearing on life as lived. Summer’s bounty begins in May and often spills past September. Winter’s claw snatches weeks from November and still refuses to let much of March get away.
I’ve heard it said that South Dakota has only two seasons – the hot one and the cold one – but this was from an itinerant citizen, long since decamped. Since living here I’ve tried the line out on various locals, and they don’t agree. Celebrations of changing leaves and harvest, or of Easter blooms and budding branches are as common here as they are anywhere. But the view from my window leaves me in doubt.
The continental climate is harsher than it was back east. Summers are hotter and drier, winters hard-locked in thawless freeze. Between these extremes are the awkward weeks when nature tries to figure out which way to go, wobbling between southern blasts that push up the numbers, and northern gales that catch you unprepared.
I still haven’t figured out winter up here. Summers are easy. Fresh air calls. Long drives and tent-nights, music in the air. But my hermit head capitulates to the cold. Undone projects, unwritten tales and still-born songs come flooding back. It’s an annual frost-bit reckoning on my inner life, and it leaves me in the dumps. The time is mine, but the motivation withers.
But I need to figure out this out soon, or I’ll continue to lose half my life. I need to rework a theory of seasonal equality that fits my new mold, to find parity between the hot and the cold. Winter can be an opportunity. Yes, it’s going to be a dark-night fight, but I still have a few months left to win this one. Wish me luck. It’s high time to crack this nut.
