Spring Thinking

by Jay Kerner

According to Tennyson, Spring is when a young man’s thoughts turn to romantic love, or some such hoo-hah. Okay, but what about the old man? Spring, for the old man, means you survived winter, yet again. It feels like each one takes a tiny piece of you. Like our aging process accelerates in the cold, dark months before slowing again as the days get longer. Spring feels like it’s all out in front of you. It’s your chance to put into action all the mid-winter daydreams you’ve built up while huddled by the fire.

The old man knows the first signs of Spring. The fuzzy buds on the Magnolia Tree by the garage. The bright green blades of the Jonquils just peeking out from the base of Humpty Dumpty’s Wall. This old man subconsciously drives slightly out of his way to cruise past ballparks this time of year. Tiny kids throwing balls and taking grounders means Spring to me. Fishermen, women, and children pop up on area ponds. There might be a few hard-core ice-fishing folks around, but once the ice is gone and the mercury climbs a little, the rest come out. Some are fishing for fun. Some are fishing for food. Some are fishing with no bait, just an excuse to sit by the water and enjoy the day.

The old man can smell Spring in the air. It’s a rich bouquet of Mother Nature’s handiwork, awakening from a long Winter’s Nap. The green growth yawns and inhales CO2, converts it to Oxygen, and breathes it back out. Stick your nose out and sniff! It’s subtle, but you can smell it. With just a hint of the remaining mulch from last year’s bounty, fertilizing the roots.

Spring puts a spring in my step. By March 1st, I’d already walked three round trips to the downtown watering hole we’d driven to all winter. We’ll log a lot of miles this year between there and home, as the Queen knows the promise of a beer halfway is great encouragement for me. We haven’t started Spring Cleaning yet, but no doubt we’ll have been at it by the time you read this. The yard is full of sticks. The patio catches leaves like a big basket. No matter how often you rake and vacuum, they just keep coming. Snow makes everything white and pretty, but it melts and leaves behind the leaves you missed. The big patio cleanup is a rite of Spring in our house.

We’ll be raising the storm windows and wiping the cobwebs from between the frames. The old man knows things about cross-flow ventilation that young people born and raised in temperature-controlled comfort never will. Sleeping on a rainy Spring night with windows open an inch or two is a luxurious sensation mostly unknown to younger generations. Spring means the start of camping! We love the kids and grandkids all year long, but we may love going camping with them most of all. The distractions of the world drop away, and we get to interact without all the background static.

The old man doesn’t talk about it, but he quietly knows every Spring could be his last. Not to be morbid, but he’s losing contemporaries steadily now, each one a reminder that you just never know. Time grows more precious as the sand in your hourglass dwindles. Spring means another chance to prepare for an uncertain future. To plant things. Vegetables and flowers. To enjoy in the short term. Fruit trees and wildflower patches for others to enjoy, long after he’s gone.

This old man loves Spring. It’s the most optimistic of the seasons. I’m going to stretch my muscles and ride my bike and make all the hay I can, while the sun shines. Let’s go!