ABSTRACT
Garrison Keillor has observed that those of us who live in Lake Wobegon country were as-signed three seasons rather than the customary four-we’re either getting over winter, or we’re getting ready for winter, or it is winter. But he forgot to mention that we were gifted with a very special day that separates our winter season from our getting-overwinter season: We awaken one morning and discover that if we squint our eyes and cock our heads just so, we can see that overnight Mother Nature has cloaked our trees in a diaphanous haze of green. It is then that we know winter is over and that our bleak landscape has begun its magical metamorphosis.
