May, or May Not?

Happy May Day!

I was born and raised in a place where May was an important month, where May meant something.

May was spring. It was much less likely to snow in May than in the months before it, and more likely to rain. The snow that had piled up over the winter would be melting in earnest. Lake levels would rise.

Of course, there might be a tornado. No season was without its risks.

We would begin the long, gradual shedding of layers of clothing from winter to summer. Winter coats would give way to spring jackets, snow boots would be replaced by rain gear.

Even people who lived “in town” began to look forward to Memorial Day at the end of the month.

Now I live in a place where the difference between winter and summer escapes many people. They call it “endless summer.” There are seasons, but they are subtle. The main difference between January and August is how likely we are to get rain.

It fascinates me that the people among whom I grew up, though not known for their flexibility, were always able to adapt to the changing seasons. I do not remember anyone complaining about the weather. People knew how to drive in the snow and ice, and respected the need to live with the conditions.

Here, people complain about weather all the time. Some people complain when it rains, some when the sun warms the air. People now do not adapt, and complain when the weather does not do what they want it to do.

Growing up where I did taught me that there is a reason this month is called May.

[Image by Jasmine&Roses]