One of my best friends has lived in the Bay Area for 12 years. While she loves it dearly, her one complaint has always been that the lack of seasons has made it hard for her to retain memories. She struggles to attach her memories to a moment in time, a moment in her personality, without the punctuation of the weather rooting her to a time of year.

Being that I very much live in a place with seasons, I had never considered it before. But once she said it, I felt supremely grateful that I get to experience all four. It’s not only an anchor in the sea of time, but also a valuable lesson in loving something that’s fleeting. I love winter *because* it’s not forever. By March, I’m pretty damn well over it.

But now I can’t stop thinking: in the absence of seasonal weather, how do you find purchase? How do you stop all the memories from blurring together? What does spring actually mean, beyond the warmer weather?

For me, spring has always meant Passover. A big ol’ seder dinner with our friends or family (though importantly never both 😂). It means dusting off my favorite seder plate (err…plates) and my crockpot, and, against my better judgment, buying a lot of parsley. 

Spring also means redecorating to make room for fresh flower bouquets all over the house. Namely, tulips.

It has also started to mean the onset of gardening season. Or, more aptly, suspender and smock season. (Because who are we kidding, every season is clog season). I’m not yet confident enough to garden through autumn and winter, so spring feels unique to me in that way.

And — not one to let the truth get in the way of a good story Substack — I feel obligated to point out that spring also means overpriced allergy medication. (No but seriously, it’s $1 *per pill*.)

If seasons were a math equation (really showing myself here), is it simply = traditions + weather?

And to continue the thought spiral: what is a tradition, really, beyond just a memory you hold really, really dear? So much so, every year, you pay homage to it?

My mom reads this newsletter (hi, mom! 💛) and I find myself wondering, as she reads this, if she’ll consider these traditions intentional or just happy accidents. Did she try to impart the magic of new flower bouquets permeating our house every April? Or was that just something she loved, and it grew roots in my soul as a happy memory, so now it’s mine, too? 

In 5, 10, 15 years, when my daughter and I are so sick of winter and get itchy/sneezy for spring, will she think of Passover and tulips and gardening, too? Or will it be something else entirely we haven’t even invented yet?

I can’t wait to find out. And in the meantime, I’ll be making memories loving (and then hating) every summer, fall, and winter in between, too.

Now tell me (especially those of you without seasons!!): what does spring mean to you?

x Hilah