As I wrote about last year, living near the Great Lakes brings all sorts of weather, sometimes all four seasons in one day. That said, one of the craziest months is not March, when the weather can be miserable but spring officially arrives; it is May. Living near the Great Lakes in May is like dealing with someone charming, unpredictable, moody, and just a little unstable. One day, it’s 27°C (81°F), the sun’s out, the hornets are hanging around, the birds are singing, and you’re sitting on a patio in shorts, quaffing your beverage of choice and wondering if it’s too early to declare summer is here even though the calendar says later in June, at least officially Then, BANG! The next day, it’s 10°C (50°F), raining sideways, and the wind feels like it has a personal grudge. It says, “Oh, you thought the warm and sunny days were finally here? We’re not done with the crappy weather yet.”
May, especially the first week or even the second and third, is when you can get sunburned on a Tuesday and chilled to the bone by Thursday with a few flurries. On another day, the forecast might say 23°C, but if there’s dampness in the air and a wall of clouds overhead, it somehow feels like 13. The temperature might say one thing, but your body says, “Nope, it is definitely hoodie weather, but it’s okay to wear shorts.” There’s no logic to it; you have to experience it to understand that strange weather phenomenon.
This meteorological moodiness is a well-known reality for anyone living near a Great Lake or two. Try living within a two-hour drive of three of them, like I used to do. I’m down to one now. The sheer size of the lakes creates microclimates and unpredictable shifts. One area gets socked in with fog and drizzle, and 20 minutes down the road, it’s sunny with only a few clouds and 26°C. You often hear, “No, we didn’t get any rain in our area.” Winds off the lake can turn a pleasant afternoon into a jacket-worthy affair in minutes. Cold fronts linger and warm systems fizzle. The only consistent thing about May is its inconsistency.
And still, we fall for it every year. We gamble with gardening too early, put away our heavy jackets too soon, and plan barbecues like the weather owes us something. After all, “It’s May for crying out loud!” We’ll believe summer has arrived because the tulips are up, but then get a frost warning for tonight so we better cover the tomatoes.
May brings shorts and flip-flops, but sometimes fleece. It brings a summery gin and tonic one day on the patio, and a bowl of comforting beef barley soup the next day to warm us up. It brings us sunglasses one day, and maybe even a windshield scraper the next morning. One day you’re on a dock or boating on the lake, and the next you’re lighting the fireplace. And yet, we embrace it because after the long gray stretch of winter and early spring, even May’s unpredictability feels like progress.
It’s not summer. It’s not quite spring. It’s just May; moody, unpredictable, a little ridiculous, and essential after a cold, damp winter and the lead-in to summer, where we’ll probably complain about the heat and humidity for three months like we always do and, despite the beauty surrounding the Great Lakes, declare that we’ve had it with damp winters and unpredictable May, and are moving to the Caribbean. That is, until we realize how much we will miss the change of seasons and maybe even May.
johnberkovich.com 