Nature resists the changing of the seasons. Dee Menear/Rangeley Highlander

Wednesday, April 2, high noon: Today feels like spring. It is warm enough for me to wear my favorite worn and faded flannel shirt outside instead of my winter coat. The snow cover in my yard is thinning rapidly. Early spring bulbs are beginning to push fresh green shoots through warming soil. Robins are searching for worms in the muddy driveway. Last night, I heard the first ‘meep’ of a woodcock nesting in a nearby field. Spring has sprung!

Thursday, April 3, 7:45 a.m.: We are in the middle of a yet another winter weather advisory. It snowed last night. The kids are home from school with another snow day. The temperature is hovering just below freezing. Ice pellets are hitting the metal roof with such force I can’t hear myself think. Spring has definitely not sprung!

Change is hard.

For me, resisting it is the only obvious way to deal with any variances in my norm. I have concrete routines that keep me on track as I go about my day. If there is any hint of a departure from normalcy, everything seems to come to a screeching halt. Adjustment to alterations often takes more time than I’d like to admit.

I’ve given a lot of thought recently about how difficult it can be to change the course. It seems the breeze will be blowing in my sails, the seas are calm, and visibility is clear. Then, out of nowhere, an unanticipated storm comes along that maps out a new direction. Ropes need to be adjusted to conform to changes deemed necessary by outside forces.

For instance, a never-ending remodel and construction project at home has turned household routines upside down many times over.

The dining room is no longer a place to enjoy meals. It has become a storage space for lighting fixtures, hardware and cans of paint. The hallway is a closet. Cars are not parked in the garage because that space has become a staging area. A brand-new water heater, still strapped to the pallet it arrived on, greets guests by the front door.

It seems as we move from one stage of construction to another, more chaos is created. Furniture is moved and moved again. Weekly cleaning has become a necessary daily task to keep up with construction dust and debris.

I must continuously remind myself that this is a change I specifically requested. Still, while living amid sawdust and discarded lumber scraps, this modification is proving to be exceptionally difficult to navigate.

Even nature, it seems, takes issue with embracing modifications in business-as-usual.

Winter is refusing to let go even though spring is steadily pounding at the door to be let in.

Every year, about this time, I have to remind myself, “No winter lasts forever, no spring skips its turn.” At times, the quote, attributed to Hal Borland, becomes a phase repeated with such frequency it is as if I am trying to convince myself in its truth.

While I am hopeful that spring will have fully sprung by the time this is printed, I honestly doubt it will happen that quickly. I know how likely it is that we have not experienced the last of winter’s temperament.

I also know that, in due time, those springtime shoots buried under snow and ice will lose their blanket of white. They will indeed survive and grow. Brilliant red tulips, purple hyacinths, and yellow daffodils will flourish. What is now a whitewashed landscape will morph into a colorfully painted scene full of new life.

It is never easy to alter the course, but sometimes it is exactly what is needed to grow.