On behalf of everyone—except folks from Florida, California, and southern Texas—it is time for a conversation. Jack, forgive me, but I am loading the straight talk and aiming for your ears.

On behalf of everyone—except folks from Florida, California, and southern Texas—it is time for a conversation. Jack, forgive me, but I am loading the straight talk and aiming for your ears.


We truly appreciated all you did for us over the past several months. We always enjoy it when you come by and cool things down, especially after an extra sultry summer. You kill off the mosquitos and provide reprieve from lawn mowing. So before I get started with our heart to heart, please understand we are grateful and sincerely admire your talents.


That said, it is well past time for you to move on. You have grossly overstayed your welcome. With all the traffic disruptions and school closings you’ve been busy creating, I understand how the calendar might have slipped by your notice. However, it is March. And looking back, you did arrive a bit early last October.


Let’s crunch the numbers. October through March was a total of five months. Who stays anywhere for five months? We generally expect you to come visit for about three months each year. When you stay an extra few weeks or so, we don’t complain. We stir up another batch of hot chocolate and look for new ways to entertain our children when school is delayed, lets out early, or is cancelled altogether.


Five months, however, is ridiculously too long. The rule of thumb for overnight guests, like relatives, is three days. But you are special. As one of the offspring of Mother Nature, we consider three months as acceptable. We are well beyond acceptable this year.


Jack Bartholomew Wilfred Jermaine Frost, are you listening to me? You’ve been here too long and have become a bit of a nuisance. If things do not change, I’m going to have to call your mother.


Our trees budded not long ago. But you tossed ice pellets and snow upon their buds. Our daffodils and crocuses began to bloom, but you froze the petals and stems. This behavior is uncalled for and quite rude. Your mother will not be happy to hear of these antics.


Even the children, who typically cheer when you cancel classes, are fed up with school calendar changes. A make up day here or there in place of a teacher workday or low profile holiday is never a problem. But this year, with the help of your cousin Polar Philip Marcus Vortex, you’ve robbed them of a full spring break.


Your escapades are starting to get to people. Stories of snow plows gone awry are cropping up all over YouTube. In one clip, a reporter was overtaken by a wave of snow kicked up by a passing plow. Such clips remind me of the year my dad was "bumped" by the shovel of a plow. If memory serves, you lingered that year as well.


After digging out his cars for the third time, my freezing, frustrated father tried to explain to the driver that our rural dirt road was not in need of additional plowing. We did not live on a busy street. They only traffic was my dad leaving for and coming home from work. The neighbors to the left had a driveway accessed by another road. The lady on the right was retired.


Hearing my dad’s desperate pleas, the overwrought, overworked, irate plow driver responded by knocking my dad out of the way with his plow. I’m pretty sure the driver lost his job shortly after his spontaneous decision to nudge my dad into the snow bank on his fourth pass down our otherwise quiet road.


Please, Jack, do not take offense. After a pleasantly warm spring and hot summer, we will be ready for another visit. But you have to give us some time to miss you. Seriously, pack up your bag of harsh winds, blinding snows, frozen sleet, and sub-freezing temperatures, hop in the car with your cousin, and embark on a road trip back to the North Pole.


As you well know, the vernal equinox occurs this month. We plan to balance eggs on March 20 and expect you to be long gone by then. You’ve had your fun, but now it is time for warm breezes, butterflies, and tulips.


Take solace in the fact that long after you head out of town, remnants of snow people and plow piles will remain awhile. Even as the grass morphs from brown to green and begins to reach toward the sky, the melting slush will wreak havoc for weeks. Thoughts of people tracking in cakes of mud after getting their lawnmowers stuck in soft, saturated ruts are sure to evoke smiles from your frozen face as you unpack. At home. North of Canada.


Now please, go. Vamoose. Ciao. Adios. Au revoir. ENOUGH ALREADY! Seriously, don’t make me round up a posse of plow drivers and send them after you. They’ve had a difficult season and they are not in a generous, polite mood.


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Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and the author of Thurston T. Turtle children’s books. She and her family live in North Carolina. Her e-mail address is mickibare@gmail.com.