We squeezed the last taste of Florida sunshine into pitchers Sunday afternoon as a stiff wind blew over dirty snow outside our window.
We define spring a little more broadly here in Wisconsin, where we won’t see a blade of green for at least a few more weeks.
Certainly, we miss the feel of sunshine on our face, but we can approximate that the same way dogs do, by tilting our faces up through closed car windows.
We also miss the smells of spring — wet grass, warm rain, sweet lilacs and barbecues.
Turns out, we can conjure that too.
Yesterday we enjoyed a tasty summer barbecue on a frosty afternoon. The charcoal scented air seemed festive and warm; it almost made me forget the nearly frostbitten right hand I’d developed on my afternoon photo walk. With the last of our fresh Florida citrus, I made orange juice (for Molly) and grapefruit margaritas (for Vince and me). We had grilled burgers, with asparagus and grilled potatoes.
So, we can taste spring as well.
What we can’t do, with snow showers still in the forecast, is feel spring. We’re anxious for that spring, the light-jacket-pretty-skirt-soft-breeze-take-a-walk-after-dinner spring. The green-shoots-soft-dirt-clean-air-warm-sun kind of spring. The shirt-sleeved-open-toed-yes-you-need-a-pedicure kind of spring. The bike-ride-roller-blade-long-hike-sweet-sweat spring. The window-open-top-down-counting-stars spring.
Until then, this grapefruit margarita (recipe courtesy of Ina Garten, though I cut it in half because it was a school night) will have to do.