The season always started with four to five full cords of aged wood. In the beginning, we had a fire for everyday, which lasted for ten glorious hours of warmth and comfort.
Come March, running on limited fuel we only light it in the frigid evenings as the midday temperatures rose to the thirties.
This was my first experience with Cabin Fever, and it wouldn't be the last. The anxiousness and excitement that arose from seeing the first snow of the season could make any person hear sleigh bells. But now that the snow had overstayed its welcome, and the overwhelming lack of possible snow days that followed the first few big storms made my mentality ache for the sunshine of spring.
I stepped into too many snowdrifts and slipped on too much black ice to have any empathy left for the winter.
I, along with my family, still experience the Cabin Fever symptoms of my youth but with a new backdrop. By March, we've traded in cords of wood for gas fireplaces, mountains for skyscrapers, and have arrived to the same frustration of the lack of escape that snow-days provide. To put it simply, I couldn't be more tired of sporting sweaters and the idea of ‘layering’.
So while I gaze out my living room window, day dreaming in the artificial warmth of the sunlight indoors, I imagine snowdrops beginning to bloom and the daffodils on either side of my walkway guiding me outdoors to enjoy the newly warm temperatures of the season.
To momentarily remedy the lack of spring outdoors, we bring the season indoors with cherry blossoms and violets proudly serving as both centerpieces and accents to the furnishings around us.
Yet, I still remain indoors—trapped by the polar vortexes of the winter. The Cabin Fever anxiety of my youth remains as I await impatiently for the signs of spring to pop up around me, reminding me of the new adventures to come with the welcoming of the season.