A Whisper of Spring

Well… not quite… not yet anyway. Almost a foot of snow remains from the last big storm (now two weeks ago) at my place in the western part of the state. When I left there last night, I drove past field after field of undisturbed snow cover, still beautiful, but now transformed into hard frozen blankets upon the ground, and I thought about the coming spring. I felt a definite twang of anticipation. I love winter, but I am ready for warmer weather.

I write this from the den of my home in Virginia Beach. It is cold here too, below freezing this morning, but the temperature is predicted to climb into the 50’s today – a definite hint of spring. I can almost imagine walking on the beach… in June… with Laura, but that would be summer. And summer is a long way off.

I can feel it though; a promise of Spring is in the air, even in the western part of the state where it hangs upon the boughs of trees as clumps of melting snow and falls to the ground as crystal drops of water, each a fleeting sparkle in the morning sun… each a whisper of the renewal to come.

Raggle Taggle Gipsy

Take a 300 year old traditional Scottish tune (“Raggle Taggle Gipsy”), give it to a kick-butt Irish band (the Waterboys), and throw in an Irish button box extraordinaire (Sharon Shannon), and you get music that speaks to you across three centuries...

Woods, Path, and Wishes.

When I was young, I never thought about the days ahead. And for sure I never thought about the day I would say, “When I was young”. 

 

But here I am. We all get there… sooner or later. 

Well… when I was nothing more than a curious child growing up in the shadow of the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York, I would often play in the woods near my house. I would enter through a gate in the back corner of our neighbor’s yard and from there follow a path that wound its way deep into the woods. I remember it well, even now, when it has been over forty years since my feet last marched upon it, in a manner not much different from that of one Christopher Robin. 

 

The path was well worn, but not by me, nor even by my older brother. From the point of view of my life, the path had always been there. It was there when I first walked into those woods, and I like to imagine it is still there today. 

 

I remember wondering who made it. Who was it that blazed the path and then wore it down so well? Back then, I liked to think it was made by children who came before me… other kids, like me, who played in those woods. 

 

I also liked to think it was made in my grandfather’s time (his farm lay across the field, its grey house and red barn an image affectionately engrained into my memory)… or even earlier, when the founders of our small town may have hunted in those woods.

 

I liked to imagine things… I was that kind of kid.

I do not know how far the path delved into the woods because I never walked it to the other end. I always turned around… eventually. But I did often wonder how far it went and where it ended. 

 

But, I was young, and even though I loved to play in the woods, I knew better than to wander very deep into them… not out of fear of what might lay waiting for me (although I did often imagine bears, bobcats, and other sharp-clawed pointy teeth animals being in there), but a simple fear of the punishment my mother would provide if she found out I had strayed too far. 

Today, I look back, with the added experience of being an older person, and wish that I had walked further down that path. I would have loved to discover where it went. Perhaps a clue about who made it lay at the other end. Or perhaps, the path led to the other side of the wood and passed through another gate where another kid would often venture into the woods, but like me, never too far.

I miss that path. I miss the feel of it beneath my feet. I miss the woods of my youth.

“When I was young, I came upon a path. A path made by someone many years before… perhaps when they were young. And I walked upon it with wonder in my eyes and a smile upon my face.”

The Weather, Michael Jackson's Doctor, and the French Quarter

It’s early morning… quiet… snow covered ground out my window… beautiful… the sun is coming up… a golden orb beginning to peek through the trees. I turn on The Weather Channel. I’m looking for information concerning the next storm coming my way… tomorrow as a matter of fact. The Weather Channel person is standing in front of the east coast as she talks… the map continues to cycle behind her… I have no idea what the map showed for where I live. The weather channel folks do this a lot.

Between this and not being able to obtain current weather information (“Storm Stories”, “It Could Happen Tomorrow”, “When Weather Changed History”, other doom and gloom programs, MSNBC news [if I wanted that I’d change to MSNBC], and their talking, discussing, and editorializing about non-weather topics [climate, recycling, being green, going green, staying green], and the abundance of commercials), it’s a wonder they pass on any weather information at all. 

All I need (want) from The Weather Channel is… weather. But it’s been a long time since they were a 24 hour weather information channel. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tuned in for a forecast, or much needed information on an approaching weather system, only to find myself in the middle of a program about hurricanes of the last century or the plight of Greenland’s glaciers.

In the time it has taken to write this, I have learned nothing new from The Weather Channel concerning the approaching storm. But I do know all about the weather for the upcoming Winter Olympics (three times over), the current temperature and snow cover details for the White House, a new show called “Weather Proof”, today’s forecast for Boston (too bad I live in the mountains of Virginia), and the top ten romantic drives in America. I take comfort in the fact that, before I change to a local channel to obtain the weather information I desire, The Weather Channel has brought me up-to-date on the charges being filed against Michael Jackson’s doctor, the Super Bowl score from last night, and the current temperature in the French Quarter (43 degrees).