This spring has a different flavor from any other I've experienced, because this is the first time I've actually lived in the mountains. Other springs, I've spent time up here, but I always had a home base elsewhere. As conditions at the ski resorts eroded, I would spend less and less time in the mountains.
But this year, I live here. There's no escape. I've uttered the dreaded words, "mud season," many times over the years, but this is the first time I've truly lived one.
And you know what? Spring is still spring. Snow is melting. The days are getting noticeably longer. The streets and bike path are clear of snow. The plows created huge piles of snow all over the place; those piles are substantially smaller now. And houses in my neighborhood, it turns out, have yards.
It's not green yet. But I noticed that there are buds on some of the trees. I don't know if people up here plant flowers, but I expect the wildflowers will start to bloom in a few weeks.
Winter hasn't fully released its grip yet. Right now as I'm writing this, the storm we expected to hit today has blown in and it's snowing sideways. Tomorrow might even be a powder day, and if so, I'll tell my tired legs, "Buck up, little campers. We aren't done yet." I even suspect they'll be willing to rise to the occasion.