It's that time of year.

The chairs are out. The lake isn't ready. The snow isn't here and it isn't gone. It's just dirty.

The green hasn't shown up yet. The road's still heaved. You're wearing a hoodie, taking it off, putting it back on, taking it off again. It's 12 degrees and you're acting like it's summer. It's not.

The boats are still stacked. The marina parking lot is all puddles and gravel. You drive past and do the math in your head anyway. Six weeks? Seven?

The towns are quiet. The docks are still on shore.

The only things moving are the real estate signs and the Canada geese — and the geese seem more confident about spring than the rest of us.

And yet. Someone's already planning an Easter egg hunt in the snow this weekend.

It's the final stretch. The ugly, restless, in-between stretch that nobody photographs but everyone remembers. The part where you're not quite there, but you can feel it coming.

The lake will be ready. The dock will go in. The hoodie will come off and stay off. But not yet.

We're in it with you.