Packing

Cincinnati, Ohio

Time to hit the road. 

Spring, or something like it.

CHICAGO, IL

When I returned to the northern hemisphere a couple of weeks ago, I braced myself for the return of winter to my life. After a brief tour of New Zealand, where summer was in full swing, I had grown accustomed to wearing sandals on warm, sunny afternoons. Early March in the Midwestern United States promised to be wet and cold, and so when I packed up my bags on the eve of my departure from Christchurch, NZ, I was sure to pack my down jacket on top, with wool socks in easy reach. But instead, when I arrived at the Cincinnati airport, I collected my bags and stepped out into a balmy evening, perfectly content in my light fleece jacket and sandals. The early darkness was the only clue that it was indeed still winter there. After a few days, I drove north to Chicago, passing through some strangely early spring tornadoes in Indiana. I brought with me a few jackets, my hat and gloves, once again expecting the bone chilling cold that is typical of March in Chicago. When I first arrived, there were indeed a few days that warranted warm coats and hats. Those days proved to be few, though, as the sun warmed the earth, and daffodils started peeking through the soil far earlier than usual.

Now I sit here in the grass with barefeet, tucked into the shade, avoiding the hot afternoon sun on this 80 degree day. My niece is clamoring for the pool, and trips to the beach, though a glance at the calendar would reveal it’s not yet even spring.

I find these bizarre seasonal temperature swings unsettling to say the least, and wonder what July will be like when it’s warm enough for swimming in March.