I woke up this morning and looked out the window. The grass was showing through in patches. Patches! In February! This is simply not right.

People complain when we get too much snow. They complain about shoveling, about driving, about getting stuck. But I say, what is Bozeman without snow? It’s just… dirt. Cold dirt.

I remember last year, my neighbor, Brenda, was grumbling about clearing her driveway again. She said she was “sick of winter.” Brenda moved here from Arizona, though, so I don’t think she truly understands the natural order of things.

Winter is supposed to be here. It’s part of the deal. You come to Bozeman, you expect winter. You expect to wear at least three layers just to get the mail. You expect to see kids on sleds down every little hill. You expect to grumble about the cold, yes, but you expect the cold to earn its grumble.

My grandmother, bless her heart, always used to say, “A lean winter makes a hungry spring.” I don’t know exactly what that means for the garden or the wildlife, but it sounds ominous for everyone. Maybe it’s about the soil, or the moisture. Whatever it is, I don’t like the sound of it.

I saw a robin on Tuesday. A robin! In February! It’s too early. This bird is clearly confused. And frankly, so am I.

Give me proper winter, I say. Give me snow up to my knees, proper drifts, and the crunch of real, honest-to-goodness frozen ground underfoot. Let the snow fall. It knows what it’s doing, even if we don’t.

Meredith Coldsnap is a seasonal columnist who writes exclusively between October and May, which in Bozeman is most of the year. She owns fourteen fleece jackets.