Then comes March, and I feel like Spring. I would wear light coat, hiding my padded jacket at the back of my wardrobe till next winter. I leave my wool scarves everywhere, in my car, at my parents’, at my friends’ houses. I choose now colourful and lighter ones, which flutter in the honey wind. Usually this premature and hopeful change of clothes causes me sore throat and a runny nose, but it’s Spring, it is worth risking a chill. When I was a child I would have to wait until Easter to wear my light jacket, being it an early one in March or a warmer Easter in April. Easter would have marked this transition to the good season.
Now it’s my prerogative to decide when the warm season comes, and it usually coincides with my cravings for strawberries, ramps, asparagus. Yet March is a crazy month, you can spot the signs of the good season but you are still involved with the aftermath of winter, especially when the sun goes down.
It is among the market stalls that you become aware of March oddity. Everyone is looking for Spring and you can see it from the colours: fava beans and fresh peas are on display on the stalls, still put on the side as they are now too pricey and not in the peak of season. Strawberries struggle to make their smell perceived, but they are still young, often imported, still lacking that irresistible charm they’ll show in a few months, when they’ll sweeten the market air. These fruit and vegetables are still out of season, but they make us long for Spring, so that we find ourselves looking in boredom at those products that accompanied us through winter.