OK, I’ll admit it, I grew up in the North Carolina, where by the time we hit March we were generally talking spring. The camellias were in bloom, the azaleas were on the way, and the dogwoods were thinking of making their appearance known. Now I’m sitting in Northern New England; Dover, New Hampshire to be exact. They are forecasting a foot of snow tomorrow. I love it here, but spring is far and away my toughest season. It just takes way too long and ends up being way too short. Up here, spring is a week sometine in May. We cross that to jump from winter into summer.


And, that is why I love to go to New Orleans every spring, as I have for the past three years. Besides the music, food, culture, architecture, music, people, food, you see green grass, fading azalea blossoms, green banana leaves, spring colors, and days where seventy degrees is the norm, not some freakish exception. Spring exists, both meterologically and spiritually. In addition to working in a city I love, mingling with people I love, I also get a jump start on the season I love.

To me, in recent years, New Orleans is the essence of spring.