Dear Miss Advice,
It’s April in Peterborough and I made the mistake of putting my winter coat away. Now I’m cold, damp, and furious. Was that naive?
— Seasonally Betrayed in the North End
Dear Betrayed,
Yes. Deeply naive. April is not spring in Peterborough. It is winter in a floral blouse. Putting away your coat before May is the climatological equivalent of texting your ex “I’ve changed.” It shows hope, poor judgment, and a refusal to learn from history. Bring the coat back out. Apologize to it. You’ll need it again by Thursday.
Dear Miss Advice,
Every April, Peterborough acts like patio season has arrived, but everyone still looks freezing. Why do we do this?
— Chattering Over Chardonnay
Dear Chattering,
Because nothing says local resilience like insisting on outdoor drinks while your shoulders are somewhere up around your ears. Peterborough patio season is not about comfort. It is about making a public declaration that winter no longer controls us, even while we sip rosé under a heat lamp wrapped in denim and denial. Are people cold? Absolutely. But they are cold in sunglasses, which apparently counts as spring.
Dear Miss Advice,
My street has developed potholes so large this April I’m considering naming them. Is that unreasonable?
— Suspension Issues in East City
Dear Suspension,
Not at all. In fact, by mid-April some Peterborough potholes have earned both names and backstories. These are no longer flaws in the road. They are civic landmarks. You don’t drive over them so much as negotiate passage. One wrong move and your front axle enters a long-term relationship with municipal neglect. Name them. Get attached. Odds are they’ll still be there when tulip season is over.
Dear Miss Advice,
April has arrived, and so have all the people saying they’re going to “get out more” and “really enjoy the trails this year.” Must I pretend to believe them?
— Skeptical by the Parkway
Dear Skeptical,
No. You are under no obligation to validate seasonal fiction. Every April, Peterborough becomes a town of sudden wellness visionaries. People who spent January to March fused to their sofas begin speaking grandly of hikes, fresh air, kayaking, and “being more present.” By mid-May, many of them will be indoors again, discussing allergies with the gravity of wartime correspondence. Smile politely. Let them have their annual delusion. Spring is brief, and so is ambition.
Dear Miss Advice,
It’s April and every second person in Peterborough seems to be cleaning up their yard like they’re preparing for a visit from the Queen. Meanwhile mine still looks like February’s crime scene. Should I be embarrassed?
— Mulch-Shamed in Monaghan
Dear Mulch-Shamed,
Only if you enjoy unnecessary suffering. April yard people are a special breed. The snow melts for six minutes and suddenly they’re out there with rakes, leaf bags, and the dead-eyed determination of suburban Olympians. They want the lawn to say, “A capable adult lives here.” Yours currently says, “Someone survived winter and chose rest.” Frankly, I respect your yard more. It has honesty.
