Last week, I began clearing things out of my garage to clean and sell on Facebook Marketplace. This is part of my spring-and-fall routine: pull out the large toys—bikes, scooters, strollers, and all manner of plastic monstrosities we’ve accumulated over the previous season. Then I audit. What don’t we use? What are the boys too big for? What should be given away? What could be sold to bring in some money to put toward something we’d actually use?

I started the task in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Minot felt like spring, and there was nothing more appropriate than spring cleaning on a day like that. About 30 minutes into assessing the collection and scrubbing garage grime from scooters in preparation for sale, I was uncomfortably hot.

First, I swapped the sneakers for sandals. After hosing down one more item, sweat was dripping down my back. At that, I went into the house and traded the jeans and T-shirt for shorts and a tank top.

Back outside, I was more comfortable, but the sun and eerie lack of a breeze still left me feeling like it was August instead of early May. Soon, my kids came by to ask if I’d fill up their squirt guns. I obliged, then hollered over to my husband—also working outside—“Have you checked the weather? How hot is it today?”
He pulled out his phone, and a moment later said, “Looks like it’s 62 degrees right now.”

“That. Cannot. Be. Right,” I replied, staggered. There was no way the temperature was cooler than 65, and I was in shorts and a tank top like it was the end of summer. It had been 60 degrees several days earlier, and I’d worn jeans, sneakers, and a light sweatshirt without complaint.

“Well, it’s sunny and there’s no wind,” he said by way of reply.
Later that day, a friend sent me a meme that read, “Spring in the Midwest: you never know if it’s an 80-degree kind of 60… or a 40-degree kind of 60.” There has never been a truer statement.

The next day, the high was 82—and I stood, staring into my closet, completely flummoxed. If 62 felt impossibly hot, how would I handle actual summer temperatures? Is it just me, or did it get warm really quickly? My body still seems to be adjusting from winter. If I’m being honest, I think I’m subconsciously bracing for the possibility of one final snowfall.

If you’re new here, welcome to the fashion confusion that is a North Dakota seasonal transition. For me, May in Minot is a month of wardrobe whiplash. One moment you’re yanking a fleece over your head, the next you’re wearing a tank top—and in between, you’ll find yourself wearing sandals with the fleece on a Target run.
Spring here isn’t a gentle, linear thaw. It’s a rollercoaster—a thrilling, unpredictable blend of muddy optimism, dusty windshields, and the return of robins.

And even though I find myself overdressed one day and underprepared the next, there’s something delightfully human about it all. I love an object lesson, and this is a fine one. It’s a seasonal reminder that change doesn’t come neatly or predictably. Sometimes it comes gradually; other times, it comes in waves and jolts. Sometimes we sweat through it. Sometimes we stand in our closet unsure of how to dress for it. But eventually, we adjust. Our bodies thaw, our wardrobes shift, and our expectations soften as we get more accustomed to the volatility of shifting seasons.

So, if you find yourself sweating on one 62-degree day and freezing on another—or dressed for February in the morning and August in the afternoon—you’re not alone. We’re all just trying to keep up. And in the end, maybe that’s what spring is really about: a slow, sweaty, sun-drenched permission slip to grow and change—even if there’s a little regression and it feels a little awkward along the way.