I knew something was  deeply wrong when I found a lively ladybug on a warm, February morning while hiking the valley with Eric.

I found it crawling on a prematurely greening plant, just off the trail. I was surprised, but only briefly. While ladybugs in Colorado don’t tend to emerge from their winter dens until late spring and early summer when the aphids come out, 2026 began with a warm January, and then an even warmer February. Spring seemed to be about six weeks early, and the ladybugs were responding to that strange warmth. 

That same day, I was walking to class on campus when I noticed a few deciduous trees were beginning to green up with leafbuds. I stared at those trees, perplexed, and reached up to feel one of the budding branches. Sure enough, the little green pods were fairly soft, and would soon give way to leaves. 

Still, I hoped that it was just a fluke. Surely, March would bury us in snow after a virtually snowless winter.

Spoiler alert: it did not. 

Neither did April, or May. In fact, by the middle of May, temperatures were already soaring into the 80s and 90s on a regular basis, dashing my hopes of getting any sort of actual snow. 

When summer officially settled in, it came with scorching heat, mainly dry afternoons, and the occasional violent, dry thunderstorm. A severe drought settled in as reservoirs were drained, rivers became creeks, and creeks became bone dry. Mountain towns desperately brought in air conditioners and begged tourists to obey the fire bans, all while the cities banned lawn watering and encouraged xeriscaping. 

Again, I hoped against all logic and reasoning that this summer would just be an outlier; that we’d eventually stop breaking records every week as summer turned to fall. 

But, it seems like fall has yet to come, despite it now being November. 

While the weather has finally begun to trend cooler, it is still nowhere near a hard freeze yet, let alone cold enough to make snow. Also, because it was such a hot, dry summer, now that the temperatures have cooled down and the land’s begun to receive more water, grasses and wildflowers have been springing up as though it was… well… spring. And immediately after the sun begins beating down on the foliage, the landscape comes to life with bees, butterflies, and even newborn grasshoppers. 

Again, just like spring… in late October and now November. 

This time last year, it wasn’t like this, and Eric and I have literally thousands of pictures to prove it. Prior to Eric’s heart attack- which is also before I began to drag him along on my hikes-, I have over two years’ worth in pictures that show just how much has changed, climate-wise, in recent years. 

Looking back on those pictures now, and comparing them to what I’ve seen in just the last week, not to mention the last month, fills me with a deep-seated dread and anxiety that I cannot shake. 

They don’t just show gradual, seasonal changes, either. I’ve seen some crazy shit this year (2026) that I wouldn’t have even considered to be possible two years ago.