The TaxPoodle

March is the only month that feels like it’s arguing with itself.

One day it is inspired by Mars – bold, blustery, and ready for battle. The next day it remembers it’s technically almost spring and shows up with sunshine and birds chirping like they’re auditioning for a woodland musical. You wake up, see golden light pouring through the window, and think, “Ah yes, spring.” You step outside dressed like a hopeful tulip and instantly regret every decision you’ve ever made. The air hits you like it’s still emotionally attached to February. Somewhere, a groundhog is quietly muttering, “I told you.”

March is just February with better marketing. February is honest about being cold and bleak. March? March hands you a 72-degree afternoon and whispers, “Winter’s over.” Then, 48 hours later, wind. March doesn’t breeze. March gusts. March howls. March blows your trash can down the street and then pretends it was helping you take it out.

The calendar says spring starts in March, but March treats that like a soft launch. It’s a beta version of warmth. Trees cautiously consider budding. People cautiously consider shorts. No one fully commits.

Yet somehow, we forgive March. There’s something charming about it. March is awkward, unpredictable, slightly aggressive – but full of potential. It’s the month that looks winter in the eye and says, “We’re done here,” even if winter hasn’t quite gotten the memo. In other words, March is the emotional middle child of the calendar: loud, dramatic, occasionally sunny, and absolutely incapable of picking a lane.

The month takes its name from Mars, Roman god of war and guardian of agriculture (an odd combination, yes?), reflecting its origins in the ancient Roman calendar, where it once signaled the beginning of the year – a time to resume military campaigns and agricultural labor after pausing for winter. That sense of motion remains embedded in the month’s character. March feels like a reboot.

Astronomically (as in “related to astronomy,” not “huge”), March is known for the vernal equinox, when day and night stand in near balance (with the sun directly above the equator). In the United States, this moment frequently coincides with renewed attention to seasonal change – gardens are planned and planted, and who doesn’t love a bit of “spring cleaning?” The world seems poised, equal parts shadow and light, waiting to tilt fully into warmth. You feel like something is about to happen.

Yet March is rarely serene. Its weather can be unsettled – rainfall, wind, abrupt cold snaps. That instability mirrors the human experience of change itself. March reminds us that change rarely happens all at once. It begins subtly – in longer light, in thawing ground, in the decision to move forward even when the air is still cool.

For basketball enthusiasts, there is March Madness.  For those wanting to get in touch with Irish Culture or looking for an excuse to get drunk, there is St. Patrick’s Day. March is National Women’s History month in the US, as well as host for:

• National Pi Day (March 14): a celebration of the mathematical constant π (3.14), observed with pie-eating contests, math events, and other nerdy festivities (don’t know if I needed to add “other nerdy festivities” as it’s kindof redundant when I’ve already listed “math events”)
• National Puppy Day (March 23): a day dedicated to puppies and raising awareness of pet adoption, especially shelter pets
• National Napping Day (the day after Daylight Saving Time begins): an excuse for that afternoon nap, tell people you’re catching up on sleep lost to the time change

The full moon in March is called the Worm Moon, a name that dates back to Native American tribes to whom this land belonged before us. The name is believed to signify the appearance of earthworms as the ground thaws, symbolizing the return of life to the soil. The Worm Moon often brings with it a sense of mystique, marking the end of winter’s dormancy and the beginning of spring’s new growth.

Here in Palm Springs, March is when we start to feel the days getting warmer, earlier.  The change is imperceptible at first, but by April you remember what is coming.  The snowbirds start packing up and heading back to Canada, or Wisconsin, or wherever they came from to thaw out.