In late March, meteorologists said that spring was not going to get "locked in" for southern Ontario. An odd phrase, but given what we experienced, it was pretty accurate. There would be a lovely warm, sunny day with robins strutting and turkeys doing their dance. I got raised beds for a vegetable garden built. We walked on the road in the sun.

Then, cold came back. Puddles froze making walking hazardous, again. In the yard, I saw the first tips of lilies poking through in a sheltered place. But they had stopped growing for the time being.

Warm winds brought back a few spring birds. Two mallard ducks swam past. The first robins arrived. A flock of grackles took over the bird feeder.

Then, we got snow. Not just a few flakes in the air, but a thick covering that blanketed the lilies and last falls leaves, every inch of the ground and the roads. Some people who had to be out that day said it was the worst driving of the whole winter. This snow stayed for days. It took forever for this moisture laden blanket to soak into the ground. I did not appreciate the muck on my boots when it did, but I was thankful for moisture in the earth.

A couple more days, we hovered around zero, then a shot of warmth. I saw a few snow drops. But these tiny flowers heralded another shot of cold rather than the warmth of spring.

This has been perfect maple syrup weather. Sap flowed for days and days. Below freezing at night with warmth to follow sparks that flow in the maples. Syrup producers have been working non-stop. Insects, however, have for the most part stayed hidden, not trusting the day's heat, believing the night's cold.

Another warming trend last weekend, with Saturday bright and sunny and dry, though with a wind that bit into you. Then, on Sunday we had a few flakes in the morning, a stream of falling snow in the afternoon. Ice pellets pounding the windows at dusk. Freezing rain for some in the middle. One of the yuckiest days of the winter. Monday morning another blanket of white covered the ground, though not as thick as the last one.

Spring just couldn't arrive. I trusted that robins wouldn't just eat worms but would find the last berries clinging to shrubs. Our holly bush is now bare. I worried about the flicker who arrived just before this last snow; I don't know their diet options as well. I didn't worry about the lily shoots; the snow protected them. I began to wonder when it would be safe to plant peas.

The only thing that insisted that the new season was coming was the sun. Each morning, the line of red on the eastern horizon arrived just a little earlier. It was deep red, promising that we were getting cloud not lovely high pressure, but it came earlier. And stayed later. Days have been longer, brighter, and there is warmth in the sun. When I see the sunrise, I believe that spring is coming.

This Sunday will be Easter, a promise of new life. We sing the bright, joyous hymns with gusto. But I know that sometimes, real life doesn't bring an easy bright time of new beginnings. Dreams wilt in the cold. Hope is weighted down as with a blanket of snow. We make progress toward what is good, then life is frozen with another blast of trouble.

When we find it hard to hope, hard to see the signs of promise, spring offers us the consolation that the slowness does not deny movement. Spring can teach us patience that new life may be slow but it does come. God is at work.

The sun returns with each day. The season of spring progresses, inching along toward a time when those lily shoots will flower. Underneath the frozen layer of dirt, daffodil and tulip buds are swelling. This week, the seagulls, mute through the winter, have started to call, filling the air with sound. Spring peepers will be next. Every day the sun comes earlier, stays longer, gets warmer. Wait for it. Spring is coming. The promise of new life is at work.

Cathy Hird lives on the shore of Georgian Bay.