In an Evernote notebook dated Jan. 14 lies a truncated mutant of a column which rants on about the feeble nature of winter to that point.

“Hardly any snow!” the archaic column raves. “Why, it’s practically spring already!”

The column was never finished and I think you know why. Winter came, winter saw — and winter punched us in our ears.

Like a Nazi Blitzkrieg, winter came fast and deadly after European powers failed to enforce the Locarno Pact, allowing Hitler to reoccupy the Rhineland. Or something.

It came all at once, I mean to say — and here it remains, with its chomping cold and Alps-like snowbanks, all settled in like a rude guest who plans to stay as long as he damn well pleases.

We’ll soon reach that frustrating and unjust period when spring has arrived in places south of us while winter maintains its death grip on our tender parts here on the tundra. The line of demarcation, as always, will be Kittery.

“Wahoo!” writes your selfish brother, Evan, who lives about 45 feet across the border in New Hampshire. “It’s 80 degrees and the birds are singing! I’m taking my pants off!”

Meanwhile, you’re at the end of your driveway with a machete (some people really do this) trying to whittle a snowbank down to eye level so you can see out into the street when you’re backing out.

In New York, euphoric city folk will eat ice cream cones in T-shirts (the city folk are in T-shirts, not the ice cream cones.) In Boston, shirtless kids will play pickup baseball in green spaces, dreaming of Fenway Park. In states farther south, horrible people will already be complaining about the heat and mosquitoes.

Back in Maine, the snow will remain belly-button high and temperatures will struggle to reach the low 20s in the middle of the afternoon, forcing conversations like this to occur on every block.

“But at least with these low gas prices, we can afford to warm our cars up!”

“Shut up, Louis. Just shut up right now or I’ll swat you with this machete.”

By the first of April, there will be more snow in the Auburn Walmart parking lot than in all of the remaining New England states combined, a climatic phenomenon known as … as …

Actually, I don’t have a name for this phenomenon. But if I did, it would be hilarious.

Spring doesn’t come to Maine in March as it does in other places. We all know it. March comes in like a lion and leaves like an animal that’s only slightly less ferocious. A puma, perhaps, or an ocelot.

Last year, according to my very scientific notes on the subject, the snow didn’t completely depart my backyard until April 15, an event that caused giddy celebrations in my Evernote notebook.

“SNOW GONE!” I wrote. “SPRING IS HERE FOR REAL! TAKING PANTS OFF!”

That very night, a giant ocelot of a storm swept across Maine, heaping upon us several inches of fresh snow and some ice and sleet for good measure. At which point, the jottings in my Evernote notebook become drunken, unintelligible ramblings (if you can imagine it) about jungle cats and wet feet.

And yet in spite of all this, there is hope. Not enough hope to be entered into Evernote, no — but hope, nonetheless.

There has been a decent string of days now with no meaningful snowfall. On Sunday, we spring forward, gaining an extra hour of sunlight so that we can better see the mountains of snow around us. Baseball’s spring training is underway, with every player in the game showing up to camp “in the best shape of his life.”

In the foreseeable future, our feet will be wet with mud instead of ice-cold slush. Snowbanks will recede and Walnut Street in Lewiston will be greater than 4 feet wide for the first time since November. Leaves will bud on the trees so we can no longer see in our neighbors’ windows, not that I would ever do that, Bridget. You have my word.

With God as my witness, or something, spring will come, five times as sweet because we had to wait five times as long.

Take that, stupid people of New Hampshire, Boston and points south. Our spring will be way better than your spring because it has more time to evolve. That’s a meteorological fact, right there — you can look it up.

It’s all very scientific.