I have lived in Maine for fifty-seven years, and never have I seen a spring like this. Until last week, we were still in the grip of winter. The little house in the big woods was surrounded by snow, and while the weather in April wasn’t as cold as it was in, say, February, it was mighty brisk. Even though it was officially spring, I had to push myself to take the dog for a walk.

Then there was the little surprise we got last Thursday—a snowstorm that left four inches of snow. Clif actually had to take out Little Green to clean the driveway before he went to work. In the morning, when I looked out my front door, I saw a winter wonderland. This made Clif and me a little grumpy. How tired we both were of snow and winter.

Then something miraculous happened, and it could be compared to the miracle of the loaves and the fish, only in reverse. Last Saturday, a wild wind blew into central Maine, and apparently it chased away the cold weather. On Sunday, the temperature reached 60 degrees and on Monday, 70 degrees. The snow shrank and shrank, so much that it was as though I were looking at time-lapse photography, only in real time.

Yesterday, the temperature was in the mid-60s, and it was warm enough for me to turn off the heat in the house for the afternoon. A great feeling, after the heating bills of the winter.

However, most exciting was the progress made on the patio. On Sunday, the snow had melted enough so that I could bring a chair and a little table outside. By Monday, the snow receded even farther, and yesterday—Tuesday—I swept the patio for the first time this season. There was just the barest edge of snow.

On Monday, Clif and I made predictions about when the patio would be completely snow free. In a burst of optimism, I said Wednesday (today). Clif, who tends to be more cautious with his pronouncements—he is a Yankee, after all—chose Friday.

Well, as the clichéd saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case a series of pictures. (Many thousands of words?)

Here was the patio on Monday, April 13.

Here it is today, Wednesday, April 15.

I’m tempted to go out this afternoon and shovel off that last bit of snow. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?

Here are two more pictures that illustrate how fast the snow is disappearing.

The view from the front porch on Thursday, April 9.

The view from the front porch today, April 15, less than a week later.

I rest my case.

This year spring has come reluctantly to Maine. I’m tempted to say it isn’t even here yet. Yesterday, when I went to check the mail, there was such a stiff, cold wind that I couldn’t bring myself to take the dog for a walk after lunch. I thought time spent in the backyard would be enough for him. A big mistake. At ten, Liam is still an energetic dog, and late in the afternoon he pestered me as I tried to watch Shakespeare Uncovered and Ethan Hawke’s take on Macbeth.

I finally did take Liam for a walk—as supper was heating in the oven—and luck was on my side. The wind had stopped blowing, and the air was crisp rather than biting. The sky at dusk was a deep blue, and the rising moon glowed high over the horizon. A lovely walk, good for me as well as for the dog.

Even though spring might be late, progress has been made with the melting snow. Every day it goes down more, and the snow has pulled completely away from the road.

In sunny yards, there are bare patches of tan grass. Even in our yard, which is the last to lose snow on Narrows Pond Road, the driveway is bare, and the backyard has its own patch or two of tan grass.

On branches by the road, pussy willows have begun showing their soft little heads.

And tree buds are now easy to see against the blue sky.

Soon, I hope, the little swamp up the road will be free of ice, and the full-throated song of spring will swell at night. This cycle of renewal is always fresh and stirring, and every year I wait eagerly for the emergence of the peepers and the frogs.

Ah, printemps!

Today—March 20, 2015—is officially the first day of spring. Let it be known that I am officially tired of the following:

• A yard buried in snow. Is there grass somewhere lurking beneath? A patio?  Maybe, but all I see is white.
• An icy driveway that I have to creep across when I’m taking the dog for a walk.
• Wearing a hat, gloves, and a heavy coat. Oh, the freedom to step outside without bundling up—a hatless head and gloveless hands seem like a dream from the past.
• The restless feeling that comes from staying inside too much while at the same time not wanting to go out because it’s too darned cold.
• The biting wind that makes the cold even worse. It blows down the Narrows Pond Road, and walks are downright painful.
• The high heating bills that come with all this cold weather. In our house, we keep the temperature low, but it doesn’t matter. The bills are still high.

Evidence, taken on the Narrows Pond Road, to support my complaints:

These complaints are now duly noted, and we can only hope that the weather comes to its senses, that we will soon feel the soft touch of true spring.

And maybe, just maybe, see a bit of bare ground.

Another walk without hat or gloves.

On the side of the road, next to the hard, dirty snow, the water has begun to flow in little rivulets.

Up above, a hint of buds.

And, as always, the crow flies.

More light, more warmth, more melting. Spring is eight days away.

Yesterday, the dog and I took a walk to see if Mike—of Mike’s Maple Sugar House—had started tapping the maple trees not far from our home. It feels like maple syrup weather. The days are relatively mild—in the thirties and forties—and the nights are cool—twenty or a little below.

Up the road we went. The snow is still deep, but it has begun pulling back from the road, leaving a sandy mess that collects on the dog’s paws. As we left the woods and came to the fields, I heard a male cardinal singing his spring song. To me, it seemed a little early to be setting up housekeeping, but I suppose the cardinal was just thinking ahead, perhaps trying to get a jump on other male cardinals. A lovely song on a day so warm I didn’t need to wear a hat.

Liam and I rounded the corner, and one neighbor was visiting another neighbor in his driveway. The visiting man called out, “The weather’s getting pretty warm. Soon you’ll be on your bike.”

“I can’t wait,” I replied. “It’s been a long winter.” In the driveway was a snowmobile in a trailer. “But maybe not so long for you with your snowmobile,” I said to the owner.

The owner shook his head. “Nah. It’s getting old. I’m ready for spring.”

As are we all in central Maine. Nodding, I smiled and continued on my way. When I came to one of the spots where Mike taps the trees, I saw that there were no buckets collecting sap. Maybe next week.

Liam and I walked back home. In the apple trees by Cheryl and Denny’s house I saw a robin, and again I heard the male cardinal singing his song.

It’s not quite spring, but soon, soon, it will come.