OK, it’s March, spring is just days away, and I’m in the middle of our second Nor’easter snowstorm of the week. If we don’t get some warm weather soon, we’ll have snow for Easter. Where is spring?!
Yes I’m spoiled. I’m used to actually having a spring season. My Hyacinths should be ready to pop up. But no, they’re covered with three feet of snow. Last week I was just starting to see some green grass. The only green I see now is the shamrock on my front door. I want sunshiny days, bulbs sprouting, garden planning. What do I have instead? A snow shovel and clodhopper boots.
We used to have spring. At least I think I remember a few. We do live where we should have four seasons. As a child I remember walking to school fighting off a wicked case of spring fever. The afternoon high temperatures would be in the 50’s F. You could smell spring in the air. The lawns were turning bright green. Potted spring bulbs graced the doorways of the neighbors’ homes. You just knew spring was coming.
Spring’s purpose, as I saw it, was for outdoor fun. We kids started playing kickball in the street, (we lived on a dead end street). Moms were hanging clothes out on the line to catch the fresh air. Dads were busy in the garages, fixing lawnmowers for near future use. Some of our neighbors would be competing to be the first family to cook dinner outside.
Hoola hoops and bikes were on every other driveway. Basketball hoops were being used again. Sneakers had replaced the bread bag lined snow boots, and snow suits were packed away for a long time.
One spring we started a strange fad. We would get to school early to trade playing cards. Not baseball cards or other sports cards. These were regular playing cards. The object was to collect as many cards, with different designs on the back. We were so into it, our school almost banned it, because it took all of our concentration. By the time summer broke I had 200 different playing cards. I have no idea what ever happened to the cards. They probably ended up in the spokes of my bike.
Another spring fad was pretty dangerous. It involved two glass balls connected with a long spring. They were called clackers, and they were very popular. You would swing them, like nunchucks, so they would meet and make a clacking noise. Our moms and the principal raged war on them. They would confiscate them as fast as we got them. It was a controversy that lasted the rest of that school year. The next year we were on to some other fad.