By Kait Carson

One of the many things I love about Maine is that it’s seasonal. We have a minimum of seven, with variations on each theme: Mud, Spring, Black Fly, Summer, Summer in the desert without the breeze, Autumn, and Winter. I like four of them. Right now, we are in the winter shoulder season. I am not a fan.

I am not exaggerating when I say this has been the coldest, windiest winter I can remember. That’s saying a lot, given that in the 2007-2008 snow season, over 200” of white stuff fell in my backyard. Don’t believe me? Even the squirrels prayed for a respite. We didn’t have much snow this year, enough to keep the snow-dependent industries happy, but the wind! Oh, my. Twice I chased my wheeled garbage bin down Route 11 when the wind whipped it from my hand. Another time, the wind took my shovel and sent it flying like a kite into the woods when I was on the upswing. Note to self -next life, have kids. Let them handle these tasks. I’m not complaining, though. It’s the price we pay for the clear blue skies that complement our snowy landscape. That’s winter.

March in Maine is the cruelest month. Doesn’t matter if it comes in like a lion or a lamb, it’s going to hurt you. Big time. The entire month is a plot hatched by Mother Nature to make us earn the soft breezes of spring. Temperatures range from 50 above to 10 below zero, often in one day. Morning snow turns to rain in the afternoon and ice overnight. We live on a hill. I’ve worn the back out of more than one pair of jeans by losing my footing with the first step into the dooryard and scooting halfway down the driveway and finding a landing site. Getting back up the hill is even more amusing. It’s the time of year when I long for any colors other than white and gray.

By this time of year, my soul craves color, and we’re a long way from it in my part of Maine. The green shoots of daffodils and crocuses are at least two weeks away. Forsythia, lupines, peonies, and columbines are even further off. So, I turn to memories of my Florida life in self-defense. Join me on a trip to the tropics.

The previous owners planted bougainvillea around the pool fence. The colors are magnificent, but the plants have long, sharp thorns, and no one ever included our house on the annual senior graduation pool walk bacchanal.

Angel’s trumpets are hands down my favorite flowering color. There’s a purple variety, too, known as devil’s trumpet. When I lived in suburban Miami, I had to destroy mine. It was a glorious six feet tall, and it flowered all at once for a month or more. Stunning. But kids made psychedelics from the plant, and even though mine was behind a fence, an ordinance is an ordinance. Rural areas had no such restrictions, but the tree never thrived.

The previous owners also planted the oleander. Gotta wonder what they were thinking. The entire plant, from roots to leaves to flowers, is toxic. In the 1950s, Florida planted them on highway medians. Pretty, but deadly.

We think the birds planted the honeysuckle in the live oak. It blooms in January. This one was right outside our bedroom, and the scent was amazing. I’m deathly allergic to bees, and bees flock to honeysuckle, but honeybees don’t sting so we got along quite well.

Do I miss the tropics? People ask me that often. The answer is no, but I do enjoy a brief visit.