Irrespective of scientific concerns, and the fact that this warm spell could turn out to be a cruel tease, there aren’t enough happy adjectives to describe the joy of opening all the windows, walking Miss Pup without being wrapped up like Nanook of the North*, or sitting in our den without my Vermont Flannel blankie. In what I lovingly call our “faux New England” neighborhood, folks were socializing on their porches, the outdoor tables outside our little nano brewery were full, and the kiddies were playing raucously on the green.

Although we’ve had hardly any snow thus far, it was downright, my-face-hurts frigid before this petit gout, or little taste, of spring. The wind, at times high-powered enough to launch Elvira Gulch, has been the one constant in our weather pattern for the last year, even during the summer months. On Friday, before the 40-degree turnaround, Pup and I watched an errant plastic grocery bag soar like an eagle from one end of our ’hood to the other. That’s what happens when the big wind comes through on garbage day. (And yes, I would have retrieved and recycled it had it landed.)

On Saturday, however, we woke up to sunny, wind-free, and balmy; Sunday was warmer still. Leaving church, it felt like Easter. Pup’s walks  seemed interminable because everyone was out and about and talkative. I saw a convertible with the top down. We did a marinated flank steak on the grill. Even if you are #HashTagRetired and don’t have to go out to work in the throes of winter, this is bliss.

The temperature has dropped a bit since yesterday, but this is our third day of full sun. I didn’t feel cold when I stepped outside without a jacket. Reality check: Last year around this time, everyone was out and about, too, but dealing with more than two feet of snow. You never know, do you?

When I went out to help Hubby with a preliminary yard clean-up Sunday afternoon, I found, to my delight, that the parsley and sage had sprouted. I’ve been thrilled, but not really surprised, that the rosemary and lemon thyme over-wintered, but to have even a stem of fresh parsley or sage in February is a real treat. If the weather stays mild this week, as predicted, it’s possible, though perhaps not probable, that I would have enough parsley for meatballs and enough sage for chicken saltimbocca.

Now, if I only had fresh tomatoes and basil, too… but those, of course, will come in their in their own season, in their own good time. Remind me to appreciate that, just as I’ve appreciated this sweet little break.

*Robert J. Flannery’s pioneering 1922 documentary about an Eskimo family, a classic that was shown in virtually every intro film class when I was in college.