We have been in the middle of blackberry winter over the past few days. My husband had not heard the term before now. Being from Buffalo, his seasons are Winter (I'm buried to the top of my ear muffs in snow), Spring (why is that squirrel in a life vest in the yard?), Summer (why do I own a bathing suit?), and Fall (do you smell snow?). We have had fairly nice weather since February. I have to remind myself of that in August. Boy, August is brutal. Have someone you need to punish? Try sending them New Orleans in the middle of August. The humidity combined with the smell around Bourbon Street will rehabilitate them. We like to say that we are accustomed to the humidity. As Southerners, we try to act like being in any Southern state in the summer makes sense. Let's face it, just like our family and friends in Buffalo, we know the extremes don't make a lot of sense to suffer through. In the midst of it all, we all want to move. Then, Southerners remember that their SEC football team will not be on television up north, and Northerners remember that they will have very few people willing to discuss hockey. I do enjoy the cooler weather that we usually see in May, as the blackberries blosom. My jackets and jeans are still within reach, and it prepares me for the heat that usually hits us around Memorial Day. Around then, I just look forward to our visit to Buffalo and to packing a sweatshirt in hopes of being chilly while watching fireworks.