By Christopher Moore
Sunday in Nebraska.
It’s 64 degrees. The sun is shining. There’s a light breeze.
And every single one of us is acting like we just signed a peace treaty with winter.
“See? I told you. We made it.”
No.
No we did not.
This is Fake Spring. Nebraska’s most toxic relationship.
You wake up feeling hopeful. You crack the windows. You start googling patio furniture like you’re a different person now. A better person. A man who grills vegetables.
By noon you’re outside in basketball shorts saying, “Honestly this isn’t even bad.”
By Tuesday morning you’re scraping frost off your windshield in the same shorts, questioning every life decision that led you here.
Nebraska doesn’t have four seasons. It has:
• Winter
• Winter but Sunny
• Fool’s Spring
• Winter 2: Personal
• Wind with Attitude
• Actual Spring (3 days)
• Construction
And the wind. Dear God, the wind.
Other states have breezes.
We have air that shows up angry.
You check the forecast and it says “15 mph.” That’s cute. That’s Nebraska for “trash cans will migrate.”
You grill one time in March and act like you conquered nature.
The grill cover? Gone.
The propane tank? Questionable.
The lighter? Frozen in defiance.
And yet… every year we fall for it.
The first 60-degree Sunday hits and the whole neighborhood emerges like we’ve been released from hibernation jail.
Garage doors open.
Lawn chairs appear.
Some dad is aggressively sweeping nothing.
We know it’s temporary. We KNOW.
But we choose hope anyway.
That’s the real Midwest superpower. Delusional optimism.
So today?
Open the windows.
Wear the hoodie.
Let the sun hit your pale winter face.
Just don’t put the snow shovel away.
It’s not done with you.
It never is.
-The Gun Loving Hippie Dad … Who Fixes Stuff
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