Winter on the Northern Plains often includes a phenomenon called “false spring.” Because it represents a brief respite from the relentlessness of frigid winter temperatures, false spring is a welcome occurrence, but it also brings a quality of false hope. We all know it isn’t spring, but we can’t help, on the most basic physical level, feel like it is.
This year’s false spring has been extra unusual because it has lasted so long. It started as a January thaw that turned into a February thaw, and then kept going, which meant we were wearing T-shirts on Valentine’s Day — a first for me! And though I know better, it is getting harder and harder to believe it isn’t spring.
I’m not the only one who thinks so. Last week, I heard a flock of robins in the trees outside our front door. I tried to convince myself they couldn’t be robins, but their plump silhouettes were clearly visible against the leafless branches, and while I was looking up at them and marveling, a giant flock of geese passed overhead.
Meanwhile, I wrote last year at about this time about how our bodies receive more information than our minds formalize into language because, while our brains continuously process all the sensory data our bodies receive as they move through the world, only some of that information gets translated into conscious thoughts or even physical sensations. In other words, our bodies report more information to our brain than our conscious mind documents. It leaves out what it doesn’t think is important. “Gut-feelings” — information not tied to language — fill some of the gaps, but there’s far more sensory data our brains don’t make conscious at all.
As I said then, I’m vastly oversimplifying an incredibly complex and fascinating process to make a point. I spent most of my childhood in sheltered, climate-controlled environments. Daylight hours were spent in school rooms, all the adults I knew worked in offices or similar interior spaces, and we socialized, ate and relaxed mostly indoors. The “outdoors” was the thing we passed through to get to another indoor place. Not surprisingly, the beginning of spring was determined by a date on the calendar or maybe the arrival of the first daffodils if we remembered to look for them. Either way, other than visual clues and the occasional whiff of damp soil, my mind was not translating much data from my body into stories to explain the change of seasons because not only did I not have much access to those sensations, but also nothing in my day-to-day life was geared toward those stories being relevant.
Of course, now I think, what a loss! Consequently, I advocate spending as much time as possible outdoors, especially with my kids, and during false spring, that’s a pretty easy sell. My daughter, who HATES, I mean really, really hates being encumbered by heavy winter clothes and boots, has been enjoying it immensely. Yesterday, she even had me pull down the box of “next-summer-size clothes” to see what fit, and spent most of the afternoon playing outside in shorts and bare feet.
She was less impressed, however, when I made her come in and change, not because it was too cold, but because I was worried she’d get sunburned. “Your skin is not ready for this much sun,” I told her while she grumbled.
I wish I’d taken my own advice. Last night, while cooking supper, I went to scratch my chin and was surprised by a sudden sharp pain. I went to look in the bathroom mirror to see what was going on, and sure enough, found a bright red semi-circle of sunburn on the part of my face my cap left unshaded.
Glancing at the weather forecast today, it appears false spring will finally be drawing to a close. In fact, it will probably have ended by the time you read this, so despite the birds, the t-shirts and the sunburn, it wasn’t real spring, and all I’ll have as proof of these delightful few weeks is a fading tan and peeling chin.
(Eliza Blue is a shepherd, folk musician and writer residing in western South Dakota. In addition to her weekly column, “Little Pasture on the Prairie,” she writes and produces audio postcards from her ranch and just released her first book, “Accidental Rancher.” She also has a weekly show, “Live from the Home Farm,” that broadcasts on social media every Saturday night from her ranch.)
