There’s a reason February is the shortest month. Even the tangible electricity and feelings of neighborly goodwill from the Eagle’s Superbowl win can’t hid the fact that the city of Philadelphia had to postpone the celebratory parade because of freezing rain. February is just cold and grey. When your work is so attuned to the position of the sun and the changing of the seasons February is our emotional last stand. The fervor of the holidays is over – the distractions have ended. Suddenly, it is so obvious that nothing is growing, that it still gets dark so early, it feels like the spring will never arrive.
Even the midmonth holiday – Valentine’s – is a stark reminder of how out of season we all are. Having spent a few years working in a florist shop, February was all hands on deck. I learned how to de-thorn roses, pull off guard petals, force blooms to open. But roses shouldn’t exist in February. We’d go home at night with fingers tingling from all the pesticides, fertilizers, chemical sprays that provide roses at the wrong time of year.