I interrupt the winter that never was to continue a family tradition of forcing spring to bloom. I hate this non-winter weather. I want my seasons seasonal: the winters cold and snowy; spring muddy and breezy; summer hot and muggy; fall crisp and brisk. That’s how it is supposed to be; this is why we live here. It is unsettling when the seasons get confused; the daffodils and woodchucks and skunks are baffled. So am I.