There are two types of people in the South: those who eagerly welcome spring with open arms, and those of us who immediately reach for allergy medicine and question every life choice that led us here.
I fall firmly into the second category.
Now don’t get me wrong—spring has its moments. The days get
longer, the sun sticks around a little later, and there’s a brief window where everything feels fresh and new. But that window is about as short-lived as a Southern cold snap in April.
Because right behind it comes the pollen.
Not just a light dusting, either. We’re talking about a full-blown, coat-your-car-in-yellow, make-you-wonder-if-you-live-inside-a-pollen-bottle situation. It’s the kind of pollen that turns a simple trip outside into a sneeze-filled obstacle course. You can wash your car today, and by tomorrow morning, it looks like it’s been rolled in mustard powder.
And then there are the Bradford pear trees. Every year, without fail, they bloom proudly as if they’re doing something wonderful for the world. In reality, they bring with them a smell that can only be described as deeply regrettable. It’s nature’s way of reminding us that not all beauty is a blessing.
Of course, the trees aren’t the only thing waking up. The weeds come back with a vengeance, like they’ve been training all winter for this very moment. The yard that looked halfway decent just weeks ago suddenly demands mowing, edging and weedeating on what feels like a weekly basis. Just when you thought you’d retired your lawn equipment, spring says, “Not so fast.”
And let’s not forget the weather. One day it’s warm enough for short sleeves, and the next you’re digging back through your closet for a jacket. It’s a constant guessing game that no one wins. You leave the house dressed for summer and come home feeling like you accidentally signed up for winter again.
And just when you think you’ve adjusted to all of that, spring in the South adds one more little twist—tornado season.
Nothing keeps you humble quite like keeping one eye on the sky and the other on your phone for weather alerts. It’s the time of year when you suddenly become very familiar with where your safest room is, and phrases like “rotation spotted” or “take cover now” will send you scrambling faster than anything else. There’s nothing quite like going to bed with thunderstorms in the forecast and waking up to find out you slept through a warning. It adds a whole new layer of excitement that absolutely no one asked for.
Give me fall any day. Give me crisp air, colorful leaves and pumpkin spice in everything from coffee to candles. Fall doesn’t attack your sinuses, stink up the neighborhood or make your entire yard look like a losing battle. And best of all, it doesn’t come with a side of severe weather alerts.
Spring in the South, on the other hand, demands attention—and a lot of tissues.
So while others are out enjoying the blooms and sunshine, you’ll find me inside, checking the weather, avoiding the pollen and waiting patiently for fall to make its much more civilized return.
