There is a custom up here in the country where I live, at a certain point in winter, usually the beginning of March, the farmers and long-times in my rural town simply decide its Spring, and don’t pay much more attention to winter.

Today, the for-profit cable weather  channels, the ones who make money by frightening as many people as possible in the name of protecting us (I can only imagine how much Comcast and NBC Universal sit up at night worrying about me), war warning of a huge snowfall of 10 to 20 inches, a series amount for anyone, let alone a farmer with animals out in a field.

I know this hat trick by now. There will be huge snowfalls in some places, perhaps even here. But if they get too specific, lots of people will tune out and go live their lives rather than freak out about another piece of bad news. The non-profit weather sites actually will tell you if it’s going to snow where you live, as opposed to the top of a mountain in Maine, or parts of Long Island

Farmers can tell you too, their bones almost always know.

If you follow the National Weather Service, you might not sign up for all those emergency news alerts beamed into your smart phone, saving your life and sending a lot of money to the weather channels. Some might call that ghoulish, the weather channels call it public service. You have to make up your own mind.

The National Weather Service map says one to three inches tonight, and one to three inches tomorrow, possible turning to rain at some point. Up here, we call that Spring. If I only listened to the Weather Channel, I would have grabbed the emergency weather kit they sell, or began evacuating us and the dogs.

I drove by Carnell, a farmer up the road and asked  him what he was thinking.

“It’s Spring,” he says, “I’m not worried about winter anymore. It’s a Spring sun, a Spring sunset, and whatever comes will be gone in a few days. As far as I’m concerned, its Spring.”

This is typical of the locals, I asked Carol in the Rite-Aid what she heard about the storm tonight. Normally, she is near hysterical when it come to the weather forecast, she watches every cable weather channel she can for  hours. Today, he was yawning. “It doesn’t matter any more,” she said. “Spring is just about here.”

Kelly at the Bog said the same thing. Mention of snow gets a shrug.”It will be gone in a couple of days anyway.”

I like this philosophy. I take all of the alarms seriously, as the Commissar should. I’ve been alarmed and stressed, just as so many people tell me I ought to be, I get mail quite regularly warning me that Gus might be stolen at any minute by a stranger driving by the house, or boil to death if I take him out for a car ride when the sun is out.

(If anybody kidnapped Gus, they better have some Nature’s Miracle and lots of paper towels in the car, or it will be a long drive.)

I’ve  been diligent this winter – plenty of firewood, cleaned the wood stoves, checked the oil heater, had animal-friend ice salt handy, gave the animals grain and good hay., scraped the snow off the roof, had candles and  emergency lights on hand.

Maria calls me the “Commissar Of Ice And Snow,” (actually I call myself that, she just humors me) and I’m with Carnell, winter is over. It feels like Spring, the light is Spring, I’m done worrying about winter, we are in defiance.

I drove to the market yesterday to stock up on food just in case, but that’s it. It can snow as much as it wants, it’s Spring. Winter is, after all, a state of mind.

I took the dogs out into the pasture and ran the border collies and threw a red and yellow ball for Gus. He loves chasing the ball and paid no attention to the snow. It’s Spring for him too. I’ll check in later.