Today there is still snow on the ground, but it is melting away after two warmer, sunnier days in a row. On a drive earlier this morning, the car windows were lowered as I enjoyed the balmy, luxurious 50 degrees Fahrenheit that Mother Nature had on offer. You cannot possibly fathom my delight! Well, to be fair, you probably can, especially if you have perpetually cold hands and feet and live in the cold, snowy parts of the world for at least half a year.
Naturally, with the warmer temperatures, sunshine, and approach of the spring holiday season, my thoughts turn toward spring! Spring! AT LAST! All winter, we periodically purchase plants from the local florist in vibrant colors. Bright yellow daffodils, robust red roses, and delicate pink carnations adorn the dining room table and the counter top along the edge of our open kitchen. I love this! It keeps the beauty of nature alive throughout a season that is often thought of as a season of stasis (although anyone who has been through a blizzard can attest that "stasis" might not be the best descriptor).
Softball season was a big deal in our town, or it was a big deal within my family and among some of my friends. Although we had an active Minor League in town, I never seemed to hear as much about them as I did about Girls' Softball. At school, you could find more girls playing softball than not. Many of my friends and acquaintances were involved in the teams. It became such a vibrant community activity that an old bike racing course was transformed into three softball diamonds, parking lots, and a big concessions stand. My first job was as a babysitter, and my second job was as a softball umpire for the younger leagues in town.
I loved to play, although I was not the strongest player. I found a niche for myself eventually by playing first base on our league team, and then later for the B-Team during tournament season. It was my sister, however, who played softball by what a college friend calls "California Rules." No-holds-barred, take-it-to-the-limit, badass softball. She routinely hit doubles, triples, home runs. Part of this was her powerful and accurate hit. Another part of it was that she would routinely ignore the third base coach and tear around to home plate, sliding in just as the ball reached the catcher and, since teams tended to place people who couldn't catch in the catcher position, my sister's carpe-home-run attitude paid off more often than not. We would come home, she doing her best to clap off as much of the dirt and mud as she could from her pants and shirt and shoes (and sometimes cap) while I stood next to her, running a hand along my slightly dusty knees and wishing I could slide into base without looking like a crash test dummy.
When I went to high school, playing softball was no longer practical, and I moved on to play on the school's lacrosse team. I loved playing lacrosse and the release it provided from the pressures of life. I couldn't shoot on goal to save my life, but that didn't matter because I was a fierce defender who could keep up with most of my opponent offensive players. I had a stick and I wasn't afraid to check. Sometimes I found myself in the path of a ball flying through the air, like the time someone shot on goal and the ball struck me in the center of the chest. It hurt, but I got over it and moved on.
As an adult, spring brings opportunities to hike in the woods and go camping. I love being in the woods with a backpack and my thoughts, and maybe a few people to travel with while I immerse myself in the richness of thick green leaves on trees and tiny buds poking through on their bushes. These days, I bring my camera and a book. I write poems and take photographs of waterfalls against a backdrop of wooden bridges and rocky hills. When I get home and see neighborhood kids outside running around and playing catch, I smile and remember the excitement of the outdoors as a child. I remember that winter is finally done and spring has returned again.
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