You know it’s been a harsh Maine winter when you find yourself sitting around daydreaming about mud season. Even the crustiest Maine weather curmudgeons will agree the one we’ve just slogged through ranks as one of the worst in recent memory. It isn’t just that we’ve had more snow than usual, and the relentless sub-zero temperatures don’t adequately account for it either. We’ve seen our share of big snowstorms and arctic cold fronts over the years.

But, there was just something different about this winter, something ominous and unsettling. It was as if Mother Nature stepped out onto the frozen pitcher’s mound last autumn, same as she always does. Only, this time when she went into her windup and let fly with her best pitch, we were caught flat-footed, gawking and slack jawed as she hurled a major league change-up straight across home plate!

As any year-round Maine resident can tell you, fewer than half of those dramatic snowstorms the local TV weatherman has us buying spring water and toilet paper over, ever actually show up for the party. Oh sure, they all start out as strong contenders, bullying and blustering their way up the Eastern Seaboard on a collision course with Maine. But, at the last moment something like 50 percent of them abruptly change course, hang a sharp right at Cape Cod and end up “blowing themselves out” over The Gulf of Maine.

A few of them head the other way. After taking a left at Logan Airport, they veer inland and spend a day or two hassling our friends in the “western states,” Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont. So, in an average winter, I figure maybe a third of the widely ballyhooed storms actually end up causing significant problems for folks in Maine.

Clearly, last winter was anything but “average.” Right out of the gate, a string of angry, wind-whipped, ice, snow and sleet storms began pounding us hard and often. Maine drivers got a free continuing education course that might well have been listed in the catalogue as Wintry Mix 101. Storms continued to pummel the entire state with a ferocity that at times seemed downright malevolent.

As if to insure that we’d remain utterly dazed and confused for the duration, the aptly named “polar vortex effect” brought occasional, bizarre temperature spikes. In early January I watched the mercury shoot up from a low of -13 F on Monday morning to a high of 56 F on Wednesday afternoon, a range of nearly 70 F in a single three-day period. By the weekend, temps had plunged back down to -15 F. No wonder we all felt cranky.

Fortunately, even terrible winters eventually fizzle out, and by the time you read this, the days will be lengthening and another St. Patrick’s Day will have come and gone. Of course, here in Maine, long after the cardboard shamrocks are packed away, we can still look forward to one “last hurrah,” one final full-throated chorus of that traditional Irish Blessing awaits us on the road ahead just up around the bend.

You’re most likely already familiar with this bit of traditional verse imported from the Auld Sod. It begins with the classic opening line, “May the road rise to meet you.” (A concept we’ll be exploring in more detail momentarily) and it goes on to list a few other specific benefits, both terrestrial and meteorological, which we Mainers can look forward to in the coming weeks, including such items as “the wind ... ever at your back” and of course “rain ... on your fields.”

I don’t know about you, but for me the image of wind at my back and rain on my fields (in my case “fields” would need to be stretched to include the pile of junk that’s been sitting under the snow in my back yard all winter) looks suspiciously like April in Maine.

But it’s always the “May the road rise to meet you” line that really drives the point home. Trust me on this. After a winter like the one we’ve just experienced, Maine’s back roads will be all too happy to “rise up and meet you” a thrilling phenomenon, which generally occurs with little or no warning.

You know the drill. You’re driving Aunt Martha down to the Saturday night bean supper when you spy one of those handmade “BUMP!” signs tacked onto a nearby fence post. Naturally you slow down and crawl along for a mile or two until you figure you must have passed it by now. It’s only when you relax and hit the gas that your car actually becomes airborne. Ayuh, winter’s over, chummy. Welcome to spring!