April is such a popular month we like to have an extra dose of it at just about any time of year. Don't ask why. April is the most bleak and desolate time up here.
Real estate booms start in New England because of July and foliage season. They end because of April.
I have to give a nod to November as even grimmer than April, because there's almost no daylight, and all of winter, and April, still lie ahead. But where December can act like a second November, April can begin in early January and last with no interruption well into May. If there is a break it will be a sudden bout of deep winter some time in March, after everyone has given up on it and turned their hopes toward spring.
We never learn. We always turn our hopes toward spring. We always get slapped in the face by the icy, wet hand of late winter.
People from away who believe the broad smiles of the well-dressed land pimps will throw down for that dream cottage or classic farmhouse with visions of cozy fires and hearty meals, fesh air and outdoor fun. They might even get a day or two of it.
The smart ones don't buy anything here until they can afford to make it a second home. They can crash in for the pleasant parts of the year, creating a frenzied gridlock of vacationers and the business people who exploit them, and then go away while the gray mantle of unending NovApril settles back on the landscape.
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