In the Midwest you cannot safely call winter “over” until mid-April. The latest snowfall I remember specifically was April 9. A heavy snow in late March is almost predictable. The frost-free date, in all the places I grew up, was May 15.
Here in the Puget Sound area it feels like winter’s back broke mid-January. October was gorgeous; November, December, and early January dank and dark and wet. And then it stopped. Sun peeked through. Temperatures stopped dipping below freezing, ever. Pussywillows bloomed. And the frogs–good gods, the frogs. It sounds like August outside at night. My husband and daughter saw one on the front door last night when they went out to lock the gate. He has a picture on his phone; I’ll try to procure it.
The large rock in a puddle is, I think, a witch’s rock; in any case my daughter assures me that those puddles are entrances to the underworld. I don’t know where she gets that. I haven’t read her much Greek mythology.
A nice grandmother at the playground told me February is the month to sow peas, here. We’d better get a move on.