At last...spring?

This morning was anything but spring-like.  Cold frost clung to the grass and we scraped ice from the car windows before we bundled ourselves off to church. My trusty winter coat felt good when I faced the frigid breeze as I walked across the parking lot and in the door.

This afternoon when lunch was over we went on our usual Sunday stroll around the pasture and woods to check out what was happening.  It is amazing what a few hours of sun and light breeze from the south can do.  For the past couple of days the wind has had a distinctly winter bite to it, cold and icy with a touch of malice.  It was as if Mother Nature were sneering at us and saying, "I'll show you what I think of your hopes for spring and green grass and flowers !"

But this afternoon her smile was gentle and the wind that blew was soft and full of promises.  Could it be?  Did we dare hope?  The nearly an inch of rain had softened the ground and we could see the very beginnings of flower buds pushing up through the dry and crinkled leaves.  If you looked closely you could almost see the ground moving around the life pushing up from below,  like one of those time lapse photos of flowers with petals unfolding in a matter of seconds.

And the birds.  The meadow larks were the only birds singing a few days ago.  But suddenly they were joined by other voices.  Nesting songs.  Songs of greeting. 'Hello, how have you been?  It's been quite a winter hasn't it?'

The baby minnows were frisking around in the little pond.  Penny bugs hop-scotched across the rippling surface. Nearby a gray squirrel ran for cover with a nut in his mouth. 

We have lived out here on the hilltop since September.  We have seen fall turn into winter.  We have lived through our first winter.  And now winter is turning into spring.

Somehow, my cautious heart warns me  not to be too quick to welcome the new season.  'Anything can happen in April', they say.

And I say, bring it on.  Because, I do believe, that spring is here to stay. 

 

Hoops, Baby

Ah, my favorite time of year.  March Madness they call it.  I call it Heaven. 

The picture above was taken when I was about nine months old.  You can see that my mom had high hopes for me.  Sadly, I played basketball back in the dark ages when girls could only dribble the ball twice before passing and we had to stop at half court and turn it over to the forwards on the other side who would then dribble and pass and dribble and pass and hopefully make a basket at the other end.  Not very exciting.

But I was a cheerleader.  I remember those wonderful post-season games in tiny, steamy high school gyms in Central Illinois, the over-flowing bleachers stuffed with fans screaming, yelling, and stomping while their favorite teams coursed up and down the floor making basket after basket.  My brother Paul was a wonderful player.  I still remember how proud I was when our local team had winning years.

I guess that was all I needed to become a fan.  When basketball season starts, I love to sit in the stands and cheer on our boys...and girls.  We have been so blessed this year with teams that have had great success.  But even after the high school season is over I am following the NCAA tournament and all the other tournaments that colleges play in.  I grab the paper every morning and check out the scores.  I am not so brave as to actually fill in the bracket.  I just am excited to read about the great comebacks, the upsets and the close games that are played.  I like nothing better than a game that goes into overtime.  Sometimes my 'favorite' team wins, sometimes it loses.  But it is all good, as they say.

And when the finals come and the trophy has been awarded to the Best of the Best, I smile and look ahead to the coming season......

Ah, baseball!  Did I tell you how much I love baseball......?

March Snow

Yes, they warned us.  They have been talking about it for a day or two.  'Saturday will be wonderful....warm and breezy.  But be ready.  Come Saturday night there will be a big change.  Wind, rain, more wind, more rain until noon and then the snow will begin to fall."

We listen.  We prepare.  Just another glitch in our count down to spring and green grass, lovely flowers and budding trees.

Another snow.  Another snow.  But this one is beautiful.  I took a nap this afternoon and when I woke up I looked out to see giant flakes of white blowing by my window.  I stood, mesmerized, watching the snow fall. 

There is still a sense of contentment that you feel when you see a late winter snowfall.  Yes, we are sick of winter.  Indeed, I have had enough of shoveling and burrowing into layers of coats and jackets just to go outside.  I have had my fill of putting up with the icy north wind.

But this evening, as the snow fell near twilight, I felt like a child, looking out on a magical scene.  The ground covered with white.  Tree branches rimmed with fluffy snow.  Peace on the hilltop.  And the snow falling, gently, gently to the ground.

 

Shirt Sleeve Weather

Finally the day we had all waited for arrived.  Yesterday was wonderful.  Today was equally as nice.  The sky in the morning was that true blue shade that you see only in the spring.  Setting out for my morning walk, I quickly shed the sweatshirt I was wearing.  The air was already warm and gentle, with just a hint of breeze.  Buzzards swooped lazily in the sky, dropping down low to survey the scene and then rising up on thermals to ascend higher and higher until they were just dots in the azure light. 

And not a cloud.  Not a cloud was seen, anywhere.  Just clear as glass air, without any hint of fluffy white.  Perfect.

What to do on a day like this?  Common sense said, "Get the rake.  Get the hoe. Do something useful."  But, I rarely listen to common sense.

Blithely I walked across the sun-kissed field, breathing in the scent of warm grass and wet earth.   And, for today, I walked in shirt-sleeves, soaking up the sunshine, feeling content, admiring the perfection that only this kind of day can bring. 

 

 

A Railroad Man

This is my grandmother's younger brother Gus Reiner.  He was just three years younger than Grandma.  Born in Michigan in 1875, he was destined to see a lot more of the world than his siblings.  When he was still a young boy his  grandfather took all of the children and brought them home to Woodford County, Illinois to live with him and their grandmother.  Why this happened is a story that isn't very clear.  I was told when I was young that great-grandfather, a minister, wasn't able to support his family.  Whether this is true or not we will never know.

Great-grandfather liked to take a nap in the afternoon.  Three lively boys made too much noise in the house.  And so winter, fall, spring or summer, the boys were sent out to the barn to keep the house quiet.  They didn't like this banishment.  But somehow, they made it fun.  The railroad tracks ran near the farm and every afternoon they could hear the roar of the big engine and the rattle of the cars as the train sped past the farm.

Uncle Gus was hooked from that time on.  As soon as he was able he left the farm and signed up as a conductor on the railroad that served Nevada and Utah.  I guess his reasoning was 'the farther away from home the better.'

Before he left he promised his sweetheart that he would come back and they would marry.  He wrote her letter after letter.  And none came back from her.  Heart-broken, he must have decided that she had a change of plans.

Little did he know the true reason for the break in correspondence.  His mother and his younger sister thought that his finance would be a better match for his younger brother, Fred.  Somehow, they intercepted his letters to his sweetheart so she never received them.  And in the meantime, they encouraged the budding romance between the younger son and the 'poor, neglected' girlfriend.  The next thing Gus heard was that Fred and his fiancé had been married.  Poor Gus.

He soldiered on.  I imagine he had lots of friends and adventures.  I have the program from a Railroad Ball that was held in Elko, Nevada in the 1920's.  Uncle Gus must have had some fun along the way.  He lived in rooming houses in towns that the train went through.  And being a single man, he put his extra money in banks in those places.

I met Uncle Gus when he came home on vacation to visit my Aunt Nettie.  He was a quiet man, with a kind way with children.  I can't remember having very many conversations with him, but I did like seeing him when he came to our house.

When my grandmother was in the nursing home I went with him to visit her.  He stood at the end of the bed and said, "There's the girl with the golden hair!"  My grandmother, who was in the first stages of dementia, smiled. It was as if I was seeing her as a young girl seeing her little brother for the first time in a long while.  My heart swelled with love for this man who was able to bring a smile to my beloved grandma's face again.

When Gus passed away he left us with some things to remember him by.  My mother received her share of that saved money that had been put away in all those many banks along the railroad line.  It was enough for her to buy a little white house at the end of the road in New Hampshire...a dream come true for her.  He left his railroad watch to my brother Paul.  It is a wonderful thing to behold....meant for use and used each day by Gus as he made sure the trains were on time and on schedule.

But the real thing he left for me was his example of facing up to the hard facts of disappointment and continuing to live the life he chose.  Can't go wrong with that kind of legacy.  That's for sure.