Spring

by Angela Sanford

A couple of weeks ago, while delivering the bulletins, I found myself weaving around spring potholes and realizing I’d almost forgotten about snow. Aside from a light skiff more than a week earlier—gone as quickly as it came—our yard had been free of the heavy accumulations of this past winter.

Then, just like that, I was driving from Cheese Factory Corner to South Rawdon when it hit me. Along the ditches, at the edges of treelines, and in the places where plows had piled it high, winter was still hanging on. The sight of those lingering banks brought a dip in my mood.

The sights took me back to 2014, when I was traveling as a Health Mentor for CCRCE and making late-spring trips to Tatamagouche. That year, snow still lined the roadside on June 2—my last trip of the school year in that direction. I never did find out how much longer it stayed.

Fresh snowfall is beautiful in the moment, but this winter gave us more than enough, at least in my opinion.  I am happy for those who have sleds who could enjoy the local trails but it was too much for me.  Now, what remains are those dirty, gravel-streaked piles—gloomy at best. Thankfully, with each rainfall, they shrink a little more.

Lately, on my drives to work, I’ve noticed they’re promptly being replaced by budding pussy willows. And, at home, tulip tips are starting to push through the soil, soon to be followed by Mayflowers, I hope.

Those are the signs of spring that make me smile—along with the sight and smell of the first load of laundry on the line, the sound of spring peepers in the evening, and birds greeting the early morning.

The air is still cooler than I’d like, but I’ve already picked up my first bag of gluten-free marshmallows, hoping to roast them before provincial fire restrictions end those relaxing evening campfires. Sweaters and the winter jacket have been tucked away for their annual timeout, despite the lingering chill.

Next will come the switch from socks and boots to bare feet and sandals—though that still feels a little way off. There was a time when April 1 meant a fishing trip with the boys and  sandals, no matter the temperature. These days, the damp cold keeps me bundled a bit longer, but that’s alright. Because for me, the surest sign of spring arrives this weekend—with the first round of golf.