What you want from March is blue skies and 68 degrees, the weather that makes you feel momentarily smug to live in this land of prickly landscapes and icky politics. You endure it all — the massive pickups, the mounted deer, the state rep who rails against same-sex marriage and has divorced four times — for the winter days you sun in shirt sleeves while eating tacos at a picnic table. But this, this you didn’t sign on for. Dense fog, a 40-degree temperature drop, panic over ice. When you bought the fuzzy-collared down jacket on deep clearance, you wondered if you’d ever use it. You do.

March 4, 2015