I’ve been watching the reservoir across the street from my house for weeks, with considerable interest, waiting to see the ice melt.
I expected a slow thaw to sweetly melt the final layer away calmly ushering in spring.
I imagined standing with my daughter on our front lawn one afternoon with the sun brightly shining down and waving goodbye to the ice as tiny buds poked out from our tree limbs.
That isn’t exactly how it happened.
The ice was broken apart by surprisingly violent wind gusts that ripped large sheets off the edges and crashed them on the shore.
The icy covering didn’t so much as melt away as get power-washed off the surface by a pelting rain and billowing drafts of wind. I’ve never even used my dishwasher’s “pots and pans” cycle so it seemed like overkill to me.
Relax, spring, we’re all rooting for you.
We romanticize spring as a season of rebirth and renewal but like anything in nature it can be violent and cruel.
Yes, spring means baby chickens but the reason we’re told not to count those chickens before they hatch is because several are already dead.
Patience is hard to come by when your time in the sun has come. I’m so excited for spring that I started using a spring-scented fabric softener when I clean my face masks.
It’s not even Easter yet but we’ve already been to the beach.
I pushed my daughter on her tricycle while my wife Jenny pushed our newborn in his stroller. For a second we could clearly see what summer might look like as a family of four once more enjoying the great outdoors.
It was only for a second because the wind shift brought tears to our eyes as we retreated from the evening chill.
New England springs keep you humble.
My own spring humbling came this week when I convinced a small number of families with toddlers to meet at the local library for a socially distanced outdoor St. Patrick’s Day parade.
I enticed them to join by posting a weather forecast calling for 50 degrees and sunny. Three of us persisted, despite the morning’s fresh snow dusting.
My daughter showed up wearing green but as we added layer after layer to her outfit the only green left was the warning signs of frostbite on her fingertips.
Nevertheless, spring persists.
Even on the rainy days my daughter and I can look outside the window laughing at the foraging squirrels.
I’m excited to start tackling some of the bigger projects we couldn’t get to since we moved in right at the end of fall.
We start tomorrow with a long-awaited sewer repair that will rip up my front yard and start the yard-maintenance clock I’ll chase throughout the year.
I recall the number of yellow jacket and wasp nests I saw during the home inspection and know it’s only a matter of time until I’m at war but first comes de-winterization, then yard clean up, then beating back the bushes, and about a thousand small chores more.
I’m only ever one backache away from missing winter’s yard-work freeze.
It’s exciting to start a new season in a new house; we don’t really know what to expect.
It amazed me that as soon as the reservoir’s ice thawed the ducks came back and our sky filled again with honking geese. At least twice per nap-time I ask my wife, “did I hear the baby?” and she responds “no, you’re hearing geese.”
My first newborn reminded me of a cat; this one apparently reminds me of an entire flock of geese.
Mistaking the sound of flying geese with my baby’s cry is the sort of thing that might’ve bothered me with our first child but now I’m just happy for a few moments of flocking quiet in the house.
Might as well rest now; there’s plenty of work right around the corner.
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