Talk about your fair-weather friends. Has anyone seen Spring?

Spring comes to Ohio when she wants. Then she leaves. Then she comes back. She never really unpacks. She isn’t here long enough. She’s in and she’s out, trading places with old man Winter, giving up her place for him when he so much as sneezes. Once Winter has moved on, and I think Spring will settle in for a while, she sees Summer coming, and *poof!* she’s gone again.

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Where does she go this time of year? I’ve always imagined that she has a place in eastern Kentucky. A place in the mountains, where she lingers. Where she stays long enough to warm things up.Where she wakes up the sleeping grass and warms the soil--and she warms it thoroughly, so it doesn’t refreeze. I wish she’d linger here.

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Evidently her schedule doesn’t allow it. When she is here, it’s impossible to make plans with her. Lunch on the deck? Don’t count on it. A long walk? I’ve stepped onto the trail with her many times, only to finish the walk cold and alone.

It’s amazing that someone so undependable, someone as fleeting as Spring could continue to fool me. Yet I believe in her. Every year, when she first appears, I welcome her with open doors and open windows. I pack up my woolies and put on short sleeves. If she’s still in town the next day, I step on the scale like a bear wondering what I need to do to shed my layers of insulation. (hey, that’s my euphemism and I’m sticking to it, alright?) But before the number registers on the scale,*whoosh! * out the open door she flies again, leaving me to wonder if she was ever really here at all.

Spring’s uncertain visits are beginning to take a toll on me. When she pops in, she’s all warm and friendly - then she leaves again, giving me the cold shoulder. It’s enough to give me a complex.

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Over the years I’ve tried a variety of coping mechanisms. Denial was my favorite.

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In Denial, I limited my wardrobe to short-sleeved shirts and lightweight jackets after March 1st. I put away the snow shovel. When it snowed, I steadfastly stomped my foot and declared, “It won’t stick!” Denial faltered when six inches of it-won’t-stick sat in my driveway. Denial barely got me by when my trunk--where I had resolutely stored the ice scraper--was frozen shut by a storm that arrived while I was grocery shopping. Denial failed completely as I stood next to an ice-covered car,holding my groceries, shivering in my short-sleeved shirt and lightweight jacket.

Eventually I gave up onDenial. I moved on to Avoidance.

Avoidance is easy. Avoidance says “I’m not going to do any spring cleaning until the muddy season is over,”knowing full well that the muddy season ends in January. NEXT January.Avoidance gathers seeds and gardening tools, assembles them in the garage, and breezily says to me, “Plant these when you have an hour or two.” Avoidance allows me to ignore the fact that I’d need an hour or two to chisel a single seed-sized hole in the frozen ground. Avoidance is most successful when practiced on vacation.Preferably, on a sun-drenched beach, where I can forget to call friends at home who might rudely mention that a blizzard has closed the airport.

Avoidance only lasts so long. Eventually, Acceptance takes over.

I’ll admit that Acceptance has its merits. Acceptance allows me to postpone lawn mower maintenance, to wait another month to send my sweaters to the cleaners, and to leave the Christmas lights up until July. I’ve been told that if I really, really work atAcceptance, I will learn to enjoy those few and fleetingly moments when Spring pops in to say hello, and then goodbye.

Acceptance doesn’t come easy. Apparently, neither does Spring. If you see her, please tell her I miss her. And tell her she’s welcome to stay longer the next time she comes.

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I have lived in Ohio, in various states of Acceptance, Avoidance and Denial, for nearly six decades. This essay originally appeared in Dumb Things We Say to Dogs, a collection of essays and less organized thoughts.