Heat Wave

I live in western Michigan. Consequently, I am no stranger to winter. From November through March, my jean cuffs are salt-stained and snowplows rule the roadways. But as I look outside my window,  none of these wintry things can be found. Instead of snow, I see a muddy collage of green and brown. The icy walks I tiptoed across last week are now trickling streams. Like the grass, my college colleagues are emerging from their winter slumber. I see them frolicking through the pine grove wearing short sleeve T's and flowy skirts. Though the thermometer no longer hovers above zero, it is only forty degrees. But here in the mitten, we live for this weather. We embrace it with open arms and celebrate the heat wave while we can. Forty degrees is summer for a Michigander. We throw our Frisbees, go running in shorts, and toss our woolly hats back in the closet. These behaviors make us unique. Most people stay bundled in their itchy sweaters, but not us. We do not wear coats. We strip down.