Last week I received a terribly forlorn email from an Irish friend describing the state of her so-called “spring days” in upstate New York, where she is currently residing. The descriptors were all too real to me: snow, snow and more snow. And while every year it seems ridiculous to have snow on the ground in spring, I think back to weather stories from the previous year, and there it was again. It’s not really new, but I am sure it is particularly shocking to someone who is accustomed to Irish daffodils and rhubarb in March.

Her email got me thinking about the seasonal differences between where I lived in the USA and how things play out here in the Irish countryside. To begin with, the spring months are seemingly adjusted. I think this is changing, but for the first several years that I resided in Ireland, according to my husband, spring officially began in February and lasted until the end of April. May would then be the kick-off to summer fun. In America, spring was and has always been the months of March, April and May. In my mind, any deviance from that was surely messing with Mother Nature. But, when you’re a blow-in, you just get on with it.

After spending some time pondering the season, past and present, I decided that the most significant difference is the wonderful circus of calves that I am now lucky enough to be surrounded by here at the farm each spring. I suppose not just our calves, but baby animals of every sort in pastures and fields in our locale. When I think back to spring stateside, the only babies that come to mind are the ones which were bundled up inside their state-of-the-art jogger strollers being swiftly pushed along by resurfacing yummy mummies in city parks each morning.

Spring in the cooler climates of the Midwest, the Pacific Northwest and New England states often arrives in the form of the final melting of snow.

The hope was that “April showers would bring May flowers” – a common spring saying that rolled off people’s tongues as frequently as the line “a grand long stretch in the evening” is reiterated here.

Since it took so much longer to see flowers flourishing in spring in America, I am positively enamored with nature’s calendar in Ireland. These are some of my favourites:

Wild primrose: Geoffrey brought me a tiny posy of wild yellow primroses that he found on a hike with granddad a couple of weeks ago, which I promptly used to garnish a chocolate cake.

Daffodils: with yellow flowers shooting up everywhere, I always make a point to stop at the daffodils for sale using the charming roadside honour system when driving into the city.

Snowdrops: My dear mother-in-law used to love seeing the first snowdrops of the season, it meant spring was on the way, although she noted that they seemed to be earlier each year.

What symbolises spring to you?