Another Day in March. This morning, the thermometer read zero, and there is frost on the windows. Another storm is blowing up the coast, and although there are small patches of blue in the sky, there are plenty of hazy clouds to indicate bad weather is coming. The prediction is that the storm will be mostly coastal, and I am hopeful that central Maine will be spared the worst. Even better would be for the storm to be entirely coastal, as in completely out to sea, but I suppose that is too much to hope for.

On the stove, there are chicken bones simmering with garlic, peppercorns, a bay leaf, salt, and an onion studded with a few cloves. After it has simmered for several hours, the broth will be strained and then go into the slow-cooker to be combined with drippings from a chicken meal we had on Sunday, when I put sweet potatoes under a whole chicken sprinkled with garlic and herbs. When the broth and drippings have simmered for a bit, I will blend the leftover sweet potatoes into the resultant stock and add leftover chicken. Noodles will be cooked separately to add at the last minute, and Clif and I will have some warm soup on this cold March night. I’ll either make biscuit muffins or bran muffins to go with the soup.

While the stock is simmering, there will be a walk in the woods with the dog. There is still plenty of snow in central Maine, and the trail we walk on is packed hard by snowmobiles. It doesn’t feel like spring at all. It still feels like winter. But the days are getting longer, and the birds have begun their spring songs. I tell myself this as I bundle up in my heaviest coat and put on my hat and my heaviest gloves.

In the woods, at the end of the trail, are sap buckets. Unfortunately, it has been too cold for much of a harvest. Nevertheless, those buckets are a cheering presence at the end of what has been a long, hard winter.

Surely warmer weather is just around the corner. Surely spring is coming. Surely sometime before July, the snow will be gone from the yard of the little house in the big woods.

I’m in such a gray funk on this drizzly first day of spring that although there is much I could be doing, I don’t want to do any of it. Quite naturally, my mind turns to chocolate, tea, reading, and a day spent on the couch.

“What in the world?” the Franco-American part of me scolds. “The whole day on the couch? Mon Dieu! Cupboards need to be cleaned, floors need to be vacuumed, and some of the rooms really, really need to be dusted. And have you looked at your closet lately? There are clothes in there that haven’t seen the light of day in years, if not decades. Time to get rid of those darned clothes.”

The foodie part of me also chimes in. “And you know that too much chocolate isn’t good for you. A little yes, but not one of your chocolate fests where those tin wrappers make a tottering pile beside your tea cup.”

“All right, all right,” I mutter. “I won’t spend the day on the couch where I read, eat chocolate, and drink tea.”

As I finish typing that sentence, I look out the window at the rain and the drooping branches. Snow slides with a whoosh from the roof. The road is thick with slush, and there will be no walk in the woods today. The dog will be restless tonight, and I know how he feels. In, in, in. We have been indoors for too long, and we want to be outdoors. It’s funny how well matched the dog and I are. On a nice day in the summer, we both could spend the day outdoors from dawn to dusk. And I mean this literally.

Around this time of year, a snow-free yard, a sunny day, and picking up branches and twigs start looking good. Indoor chores, not so much, even though there are plenty of them.

The snow will melt, but that day seems to be some time in the distant future. Intellectually, I know this isn’t true, that by the end of April, the ground will be bare, the mud should mostly be gone, and there will be a flush of green.

But the reality of now, of March, of cold gray, almost overcomes the imagination.

Well, maybe just one cup of tea and a few chocolates. And a chapter or two.

After all, those chores aren’t going anywhere.

Today is our wedding anniversary. Clif and I have been married for 37 years, and, yes, this makes me feel very, very old.

‘Tis more fun to celebrate an anniversary on a weekend than midweek, and thanks to the generosity of my brother and his wife, who gave us a gift certificate for Christmas, we were able to go to 18 Below in Waterville. As soon as I walked down the long stairs—they don’t call it 18 Below for nothing—I knew it would be my kind of place. I could see that many people were drinking cocktails, and I must admit I have a fondness for mixed drinks.

“I’m getting a cocktail,” I said to Clif after we were seated.

“I was sure you would,” Clif said, handing me the drinks list. “And they have plenty to choose from.”

I ordered a Vermonter—Gray Goose and maple syrup—and it was good and simple enough so that I am planning to try this at home sometime in the summer, when we can invite friends over for grilled bread, appetizers, and drinks. Clif also ordered a cocktail—I can’t remember its name—but it had the taste of a fresh margarita.

After drinks came the tasty food—pork for me and seafood for Clif—and the restaurant was full of happy people eating and drinking. There was even a birthday gathering, and after the birthday song was sung, we all clapped.

“That’s what happens when you serve cocktails,” our daughter Dee observed when we told her about the jolly mood at 18 Below.

Indeed it does, and although you wouldn’t want to make a habit of drinking cocktails on a regular basis, one now and then does add a splash of fun to an evening.

So happy anniversary to Clif and me. After 37 years of marriage, I can honestly say that we are true friends. We share so many of the same interests—biking, movies, theater, art, books, and food as well as a love of family and friends. I know this doesn’t sound in the least romantic, but it is my guess that nowadays most long marriages have this element of friendship that strengthens and sustains the relationship.

I know I can’t imagine a marriage without it.

And a cocktail now and then doesn’t hurt, either.

Today is Pi day, and to celebrate, I made an apple pie. Soon, friends will be coming over to share it with me. Happy, happy Pi day!

This morning, Clif and I had some fun outside. For over an hour, using metal shovels that are not only old enough to vote but are probably old enough to collect social security as well, we chipped away at a wall of ice at the end of our driveway and by the mailboxes. It’s nature’s gym, that’s for sure, when snow is followed by sleet and rain and the plow truck goes by and plugs the end of the driveway.

It is pretty outside, I’ll give it that. The dirty snow is covered up—at least for the moment—and the trees are frosted with white. As we worked, the dog had a blast jumping and barking, and after such exertions, he is taking a nap at his favorite spot by the door, where he can keep track of things as he snoozes.

After my exertions, I felt as though I deserved 2 cookies with my mug of tea, even though it was only 10:00 in the morning. Those cookies tasted pretty darned good, as my Yankee husband might say.

To look at the bright side…at least we didn’t lose our power, and April is only a few weeks away. To my way of thinking, April is not the cruelest month of the year. Not by a long shot. It is a time of warmer weather and awakening, when the water runs and gurgles in the ditch by the side of the road and the birds are in full song and they are telling us that spring is coming, spring is coming.

Let’s just say that a snowstorm in March is not exactly welcomed with enthusiasm. However, in Maine, we are used to them. We Mainers know that March is a temperamental month with a trick or two up its sleeve before it gives way to April. And right on schedule, here it comes, a snowstorm with wet, heavy snow where we might get as much as 18 inches.

At the beginning of the storm, the dog and I went into the woods for a walk. He came back with wet fur, and I came back with a wet hat and mittens.

Tonight, Clif and I will have a comfort meal of baked chicken, baked potatoes, and baked delicata squash, one of the few I still have left from Farmer Kev. I’ll start a fire in the wood furnace, and all will be warm at the little house in the big woods.

Outside, it will snow and snow, on the driveway, on the roads, in the yard, and in the woods. Winter is not over. Not yet. But if we are very lucky, this will be the last snowstorm before spring. If not, I have more chicken in the freezer, more potatoes, and least one or two more delicata squash.

Late winter. The cold is still with us, and on my office window, there is a beautiful leaf made of frost, which glitters in the sun. The driveway is icy, and the path to the woodpile is icy. I wear my grippers when I am in the backyard, but nevertheless there is a fine sprinkle of wood ash on the path. I hate the mess, but it would be worse to fall and break something. So grumbling a bit to myself, I spread the ash.

Despite the cold, there are signs of spring. The days are getting longer. It is light until nearly 6:00 p.m. now. And the other day when I was taking a walk, I heard a bird’s high-pitched call coming from an apple tree. A tufted titmouse or a cardinal? A cardinal, I decided, and I scanned the apple tree for a flash of red and a trim silhouette. I found it, and I felt a moment of triumph. It was indeed a cardinal, calling to attract a mate. Yes, spring is coming. The birds know it, even if we humans feel as though we are still stuck in deep winter.

As we approach spring, here are some late winter pictures to remind us of the cold beauty of where we’ve been: