Good Seasons

Story By June Lands | Illustrator Alan Phillips

No seasons in Florida? Of course we have seasons in Florida. It’s just that ours are not defined by a calendar.

Someone set a day in late December as the first day of winter, but I wonder about those guidelines. Think winter in Buffalo, New York, where snow is measured by the foot. Then think winter in St. Augustine, Florida: open carriage rides, twinkling white lights, a boat parade on Matanzas Bay, strolling from one art gallery to another wrapped in nothing thicker than a sweater.

Bright red and purple petunias and multicolored pansies are popping up here in every yard just about the time Santa and his reindeer are pulling into the driveway at the North Pole.

And is spring the same in South Dakota as it is for us? I think warm sunshine, chattering birds and happy flowers. After all, Florida means Land of Flowers, and no matter the season, something is always blooming somewhere – not so in South Dakota.

We golf year-round. We fish year-round – but not always for the same fish. And, best of all, we beach year round – even if it’s a wrap-and-peel day – a light jacket in morning and shirt sleeves by noon.

Mostly our seasons overlap, go back and forth, until the upcoming season settles in. And yet, certain things seem to happen right on schedule – Mother Nature’s reminder she’s in charge. Like love bugs. They come around about the same time each May and again in September. And tropical storms rumble every summer.

Sometimes there are surprises. On Christmas Eve, 1989, just as snowbirds were settling in after hauling golf clubs and fishing gear down Interstate 95 toward sunshine, pristine golf greens and oceans of fish, Mother Nature flexed her muscle – snow and an ice storm shut down Northeast Florida and coastal Georgia.

Most people who come to Florida enjoy everything each season has to offer until sometime after Labor Day, when the first cool nights linger into morning. It’s then that they miss those grand old trees back home, the flaming reds and golds that take the breath away. Palm trees don’t turn pretty colors.

But they do talk. When the wind out of the north rustles the fronds of the palms near our screened porch, it’s like the swoosh of a room full of crinoline petticoats – a be-quiet-and-listen moment.

When I’m away from home, I’m sometimes asked what my favorite season is. Without hesitation, it’s spring – jasmine, singing birds, gardenias, open windows, flowers everywhere. Then I remember summer – squishing my toes in soft sand at water’s edge, lunching al fresco with friends, butterflies, puttering in my yard. No, summer is my favorite. But oh my – who can forget our fall season and October. October is a season all its own. The skies are never bluer. The moon is never brighter over the ocean and marsh. It’s our “just us” season. We sink into our comfy zone – and then, before we’re quite ready to rouse ourselves from the patio lounge, holiday season.

So in answer to ‘‘What’s your favorite season?’’ I usually stammer and jump from one fun season to another.

In reality, my favorite season is usually the one I’m standing in. Or maybe the next one. Or maybe even the last one.