February is a weird month in Wisconsin. It is confused, double-minded. It’s never quite certain which season to align with: winter or spring. It can warm the hills and valleys with temperatures in the fifties as it did two weeks ago. Yet overnight it can plummet to near zero with Alberta clippers bringing fresh snow and ice as it did here last week.
Those of us who live here view February as bittersweet. It is brutal and beautiful, depressing and inspiring. February is filled with hope and despair.
A couple of weeks ago I was up in Dodgeville and stopped in at the local Kwik Trip to gas up the truck and pick up some staples (milk, wine, butter, bananas and bread). The sun was shining. The temperature was just a fraction shy of fifty degrees. The snow banks were shriveling mercifully like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz. Melted snow flowed furiously to form streams and lakes in the streets.
Everyone was smiling. Everyone was patient. There was no jockeying for the prime parking spaces nearest the store door, for no one minded walking a little farther on this day. In fact, we preferred it. It gave us more opportunities to say, “Hello. What a day, huh?” to fellow marrow-eaters of life. The glory of the day brought out the best in each of us. We were decent and good. And we were decent and good to each other.
Then the weather turned. So did we.
I was back at that same Kwik Trip the next week. The temperature was in the twenties, the sky overcast. A steady breeze from the north made it feel much colder than it actually was. After gassing up I walked into the store. Faces, both shoppers and employees, were long. They looked neither angry nor sad but just let down, ripped off. They carried the grimace of Charlie Brown who foolishly believed once again that Lucy might hold that football long enough to kick it. But instead they were lying flat on their backs again, feeling stupid for believing that winter was over.
I paid for my gas and walked out of the store, pulling my hood up over my head as an arctic wind blew against the back of my neck. As I pulled the truck away from the pump I was nearly hit by a speeding car. Without so much as an, “I’m sorry, I goofed,” wave, the inconsiderate slob pulled into the parking space nearest the door. I resisted giving a one fingered salute with great difficulty, settling for a few choice words released in my passenger-less truck.
We in Wisconsin become February. We can’t decide if we are gentle or aggressive. We are both patient yet petty, warm yet frigid, gracious yet demanding. We are conflicted in our emotions and attitudes not because of who we are, but because of the environment in which we live. It brings out both the best and the worst in us.
On the upside, this all makes for a good excuse when needed. Who can't use a little extra guilt deflection? "That wasn't me kicking the cat tonight. I didn't drink the last beer. Well of course I wouldn't leave hair in the sink. I'd never leave the toilet seat up. It was February."
