Every time it snows, I get excited. "Yes! YES! Keep snowing!"
I'm terribly selfish. I don't want to leave Bozeman when it's soft and spring-like and beautiful (well, brown and grey with the hope of beauty in warm, sunny days). I want to leave it with snow on the ground. If we're going to a tropical paradise, I want to leave the chilly, thawing poop behind me.
Then I remember that winter won't run out for a while yet. Crocuses fear for their lives until mid-May, and you can't reliably count on no more snow until June has passed.