Spring has always been my favorite season. As I write this, I’m on my back porch, watching a blue jay take a bath in our fountain and enjoying a cool breeze and warm sunshine. For me, this is a season that never lasts long enough.
All too soon, we’ll wake up to a day of inclement weather or stifling heat violating the sanctity of our back porches and ushering us inside as a measure of safety and common sense.
Easter, a springtime holiday, ranks up there for me in terms of favorite holidays. I was born a few years ago on a peaceful Palm Sunday morning so in terms of religious observances, that one always feels a little extra special to me. Sure, I wasn’t ushered into the world in a parade of palms, but I do know how to fold and twist palm leaves into little crosses, so there’s that. The reverence of it all and the beauty of a Palm Sunday service always brings me peace.
I have a favorite sport too, and it’s a spring thing. My dad, who is one of five brothers, grew up in a house where baseball was always on, and neighborhood games ala Sandlot were an everyday occurrence. Even as dad and his brothers had kids, the game kept going, and when the next generation was old enough to join the game, we did.
My father ended up with four daughters, including me. When I was around 7, he coached three of us on the same little league softball team, and because he’s a cool dad, he let us pick our uniform colors and our team name.
I can still see my dad on the third base line in the polyester short shorts men wore in the 80s. He had longer hair then, but I’m not sure it made his baby pink t-shirt with “The Pinks” in vinyl letters across the chest any cooler. I still smile when I think about it though.
My favorite spring memory came just over 13 years ago, when our son was born on a Tuesday night in late March. His twelfth birthday fell just after covid took hold in the U.S., and I remember the pressure I felt to somehow make a 12-year-old feel celebrated when the whole world was social distancing. We decided on a surprise birthday parade, and my friend, Helen Ford Wallace put pictures in The Oklahoman of cars going by our yard, passengers and drivers honking and singing happy birthday as our beaming boy looked on from the safety of the sidewalk.
This year’s birthday celebration was simpler, as are most things these days. The pandemic has forced us to slow down, to focus and to appreciate things we might have missed in our previous days of constant hustle and bustle.
I think the reason I love spring is that everything is suddenly new again. Dried grass starts to green up just as daffodils claw their way through the earth to face the sun. Birds reappear to rinse their feathers and build their nests. Kids return to their backyard games, their laughter creating the best kind of medicine.
And if we’re lucky, there’s a peaceful moment or two when our only job is to enjoy it all, and to reflect on a lifetime of sweet memories that give us a smile and glimpse of Heaven, here on earth.