After the thaw we go outside to look for signs of new life. Mostly, everything is still muddled over, save a few random patches of daffodils, bursting through the deadened grass in the backyard. Sullivan doesn’t mind. It’s sixty degrees outside and he loves digging through the remaining drifts of snow piled up by the garage. He’s surprised when the bucket he filled with snow hours earlier is suddenly and magically full of water instead.

I found some bean pods left on the vine all winter and cracked them open. He recognized the beans right away, but was skeptical when I told him that they would grow new plants. He took a handful and shook them across the yard — so we’ll have rogue bean vines coming up.

Everything thaws now. Even me. I retreat in the winter to hibernate and emerge in the spring.

And I never know how to account for all those winters away.