My Springs

     I remember the sights, sounds, and smells of spring growing up in beautiful upstate New York. After a cold and gloomy winter that first day when the temperature went above fifty and coats, boots and gloves came off, replaced with a flannel shirt and a baseball hat that had been hanging on a hook all winter long. Tiny buds of green poked through the unfrozen earth promising a burst of colors that were so missed. The naked trees were filing with leaves that would soon shade you on hot summer days. The last of the dirty snow washed away, and all of Gods artistry would soon brighten everyone’s day.

     Springtime meant getting the boat ready for the short season so getting an early start was essential to all skippers. My dad had a beautiful twenty-five-foot cabin cruiser which he kept covered in the boatyard until those first fifty-degree days showed themselves. Walking into the yard, I smelled the paint and varnish as dozens of boats were prepped for the water. Sanders could be heard everywhere like a bunch of hornets buzzing non stop until all areas had been sanded to a smooth surface ready for sealants and paints. It was a labor of love getting a boat ready, and I carried that tradition on in my later years.

     I loved the woods in the spring of the year. New life was all around me waking to a new day and lessons taught by the mothers of the animal world. Squirrels, rabbits, and countless birds took over the silence of winters woods, filling the air with chirps and songs from high atop the white birch trees of my beloved forests. When the snow was melting small streams ran through the woods, a place we would build small boats out of tree bark and send them downstream to end up a place we would never know. We sometimes wondered if they would end up going all the way down to the mighty Niagara river and over the falls?

     I love all the seasons, but spring was and is my favorite. A time for birth and anticipation of warmer days when we would venture to the river on our bikes and swim in the cold waters of the river never really knowing or caring about the dangers we faced. Most of us learned to swim by being thrown out of a boat, me included. I remember my dad saying, "sink or swim" and although I know he wouldn't have let me drown, I quickly recalled the lessons in the school pool and swam like a fish. As teenagers, we braved the small rapids a couple of miles upriver from the falls. It took a strong swimmer to claim that rite of passage.

     When I go home for a visit, I always take the time for a walk in the woods, a visit to the rapids and a brown bag lunch on an old wooden picnic bench at the marina where the buzzing of Sanders fills the air and stir up memories of being with my dad. 

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