We’ve had an unusually long winter here in Tucson. By this time last year, the primrose in the front of the house had been blooming for weeks; this year, it hasn’t blossomed at all yet. We’ve had plenty of water, but the temperature has been chilly. Today, we shot right up to nearly 90 degrees, and I knew that my annual “hate this place” season has unoffically begun.

Don’t get me wrong; half the country still has months to spend inside, and I can spend all afternoon out on the patio. I love that part. As much as I miss the snow that I grew up with, Tucson in the winter is a great place to be. But as Heather reminded me today, in three weeks it will be too hot. I’ll be a sweaty, hairy beast by the time I reach campus on my bike; my teaching shirt will be wrinkly; I’ll be grimy with sunscreen; there will be mosquitos, and the shade will no longer offer refuge from the heat.

Ah, the desert. If I’m lucky, however, the primrose will be blooming.