Sometimes it can feel miserable.
But over the weekend, I picked roses.
And I have to remind myself that at the winter solstice in Minnesota, I was hacking parsnips out of the frozen ground with a pickaxe, and months would go by without the temperature rising above freezing. The day my daughter was born, the noontime temperature was -31°C (-23°F). I used to teach snowshoeing. The winter we moved to New Zealand, the ground froze to 3 metres (10 ft) deep–froze people’s septic systems for months. Winter was real and deadly.
By contrast, I have not worn a winter coat since we moved here twelve years ago.
The lawn needs mowing year round.
I grow a winter garden (and the vegetables don’t freeze solid).
I pick roses.
Hard to complain about that.