Straddling seasons of motherhood: so-slow book club, week 8

The empty nest seems so close, but there's still much to do in the season I'm in.

“I am learning that it is possible to want two contrary things at once. I want nothing to change. I want everything to change.” - Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows

I’m writing this from the sofa of a cabin Eric and I rented for a quick weekend getaway, in Ontario, a little less than an hour from the international border at Sault Ste. Marie. The drive up yesterday was rainy and dreary, and had a bleak feeling about it: there was barely any snow on the ground.

I grew up in Sault Ste. Marie, and back then, a snowless February would have been unthinkable. The region gets an average of 120 inches of snow annually, and as a child that meant snowbanks towering over my head after the plows came through, hip- or chest-deep unbroken snow in places.

We were hoping for a cozy getaway—wood-burning stove and all—so I was happy to wakeup to a dusting of snow this morning and the promise of more throughout the weekend.

At the same time, even with how weird this year has been weather-wise, I always experience a tiny inward clenching at the “going backward” sensation of more snow after a melt.

Just a few days ago it was so warm I went for a walk wearing nothing but a hoodie, the sun kissing my cheeks. Today it’s gray and windy and below-freezing. When we venture out for a hike later, I know the wind will bite my face and I’ll wish I had brought warmer gloves.

Even if the temperatures rise into the 70s and it feels for all the world like April outside, there is a difference between a springlike day in February and a warm day in actual spring. When it happens in February, at least here in Michigan, you can be pretty sure it won’t last. Depending on how winter is treating you in any particular year, that realization can cast a shadow over a lovely reprieve. Or it may bring relief, if you know you aren’t ready to say goodbye to this season just yet.

The complicated feelings around “going backward” are a theme in Week 8 of The Comfort of Crows. Renkl writes about her young adult sons returning to the nest during early Covid, then remaining longer than planned as their post-college plans were disrupted first by the pandemic, then the economy.

This post is part of a year-long exploration of The Comfort of Crows by Margaret Renkl. Upgrade your membership to get the full experience.