A few years ago, while hosting a couple of friends for a simple weekday lunch during the first week of February, I noted one guest’s brief glances about the room as we chatted and ate.
When the conversation lulled, she said, “You still have your Christmas decorations up.” She paused for half of a second. “Well, it’s only February.”
“These are my winter decorations,” I noted with an emphasis on winter. “I leave up all the snowmen, anything related to winter, and some splashes of red and green for a bit of cheer—on purpose.”
She nodded although her expression lacked evidence that my explanation had clarified the situation.
“The tree is down. The ornaments, stockings, and nativities are packed away as are the Christmas books,” I continued in my campaign to convince.
The conversation ended with no confirmation of success. Anyway, it was time for dessert.
While I admit that taking down only the most Christmasy of our extensive décor makes the put away exponentially easier, that factor is not the driving force behind the idea of winter ornamentation and the labeling thereof. I love my collection of snowmen. I like festive touches of pinecones and greenery scattered about. I’ve accumulated a lovely assortment of artificial poinsettias—thanks to my fondness for thrifting—that brighten the dark days of winter with their color. And I never tire of viewing glistening landscape scenes covered in layers of powdery snow—hence the swapping out of the Christmas-themed cards affixed to the refrigerator for the carefully collected cards depicting the beauty of winter. These touches of winter décor usually remain until the pastels of Easter take their place.
I’ll have you know that I moseyed into February doing well in the handling-of-winter department despite the deep-freeze conditions and the more-than-customary-in-recent-years amounts of snowfall. “It’s winter . . . in Indiana,” I reminded folks openly grumbling about the wintry conditions, firm in my we’ll-get-through-it mindset.
But then, one day, as I strolled through the family room, I could have sworn the snowmen gracing the mantle sent a collective, haughty, mocking smirk my way. My pace slowed, as I peered at their rosy expressions and colorful accessories. I lingered, pondering their presence. Could it be that already, the enjoyment they bring each Christmas and winter season had suddenly and drastically waned to almost nothing?
Those feelings of indifference-bordering-on-disdain continued, so in an unprecedentedly early move, the winter décor began to disappear. First, the few winter touches exited the bathrooms. Except for the snowmen shower curtain which holds a near-top spot on the winter décor list. It’s just too cute. But two non-winter-themed soap dispensers proudly took their place at the dual bathroom sink while not more than a day or two’s worth of foaming soap remained in the lone wintry dispenser in the other bathroom. The replacement chosen, willing, and ready-at-a-moment’s-notice to be of service.
As I pen this column, I feel certain the removal of winter reminders will continue at a rapid pace. How much that will help my raging case of February-itis, though, remains to be seen. I’m admittedly quite envious of the folks who opted to spend a portion of February 2026 in warmer locales. The couple vacationing in Florida, the friend lounging on the beach in Key West, and those super-lucky ducks who escaped to Hawaii. If I must endure one more “We’re somewhere warm!” photo, I may self-destruct.
Someday, we’ll spend a chunk of February elsewhere. Someday, we’ll plan and execute a glorious February getaway. Someday . . .
Long-range forecasts for March predict a slow, chilly start to spring with temps near or below normal making for a sloooowww transition to warm weather. An increased risk of late-season snow and frost concluded the grim predictions. Oh, goody.
I hope the Easter décor is up to the big job of keeping us going until the remnants of winter have truly disappeared.
Beth Steury, Author 