Spring is a time of mystery for folks who live in snow country. We know that each day’s weather report is a mere suggestion of possibilities and the weather will be what it will be.

We remember the spring where warmth crept in as we received the just-right amount of sun and rain, no snow. We also remember that spring where we became emotionally undone by a late May snowstorm after weeks and weeks of dark, cold, and rain. And then the first two weeks of June were the cruelest compendium of meteorological extremes. One minute we were struggling to put an AC in the window and swearing the next as we notched up the thermostat.

And so we pass through the vernal equinox each year fully aware that spring—at least, whether it will delight or inflict—is a daily mystery. But we are resilient.

We begin to pick away at last fall’s remainders, and the cleared grass and dirt feel good to see. We are even pleased and a little surprised to see a few green shoots poking through in the sunlight. We leaf through seed catalogs and get excited for Carolina Golds, Cherokee Purples, Bush Blue Lakes, and all manner of other vegetables and flowers. And then there is updating the garden map, emailing the guy we rent that summer cabin in the mountains from, wondering if we should get tickets now for the summer show we don’t want to miss, trying to remember if we have Memorial Day plans this year, and thinking, Does the lawnmower work?

From optimism and anticipation resilience is born. So yes, let winter tell its final tale because we know that spring is on its way. Probably.

No worries. While we let anticipation and optimism do their work, in this issue we’ve got some solid suggestions for your personal spring renewal, a day at the Currier, a night out, an evening hosting friends, or simply kicking back with a lovely short story and poem.

james buchanan, editor