Spring is here.
The last of the snow in our neighborhood has melted away. Gardens are being tended. The trees are beginning to bud. Tulips are flowering. Baseball has begun.
Early last week, we faced nights below freezing and daytime in the low 40s. Now, temperatures have been steadily in the 50s. Twice my family has cooked over a campfire, my wife and I sipping beers and enjoying the warmth of both of the sun and the fire. I am keeping an eye on the forest floor, waiting for the trillium to bloom.
While unloading our summer firewood, my daughter and I peeked through the leafless forest to admire our ‘seasonal view’ of the bay. “When can we go swimming?” she asked. I laughed and told her if she was truly as tough as she professed, she could swim now. “Nuh uh. The lake is still covered in ice.”
I took a lunchtime stroll to the lighthouse. The few remaining snow banks were covered in a thick layer of dirt.
A man tossed a line into the open water. Four fish were in his bucket. There was a stench in the air. I laughed and told him that his catch smelled rotten. He pointed to the corpse of a deer floating a few feet away. “It must of wandered onto the ice and got stuck,” the man said. “There was a bald eagle picking at his flesh a few days back.” I crinkled my nose and wandered away.
When I reached the end of the breakwall, I pictured my kids jumping off the dock and into the bay. It is a summer tradition, and one we plan on doing early and often this year.
I wandered along the Bear River Trail. The river was wild, water crashing down over the falls. Two young men chatted along the bank. They were plotting a kayak trip. I asked them when they were going. They laughed. “We’re trying to figure that out. The rapids are high because of all the snow melt, but that means the water is brutally cold.” I dipped my hand into the river; it didn’t stay there long. “Don’t tip over, and you’ll be fine.” They snorted at my attempt at advice and continued on.
Spring is here. Now I can’t wait for summer.