FROM THE

Pussy willows and ditch water

As I write this column, it appears Spring has sprung. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, the snow is melting and the kids are bouncing around outside like ping pong balls of energy.

I have to say, Spring has always been my least favorite season because it’s so fickle. One minute it’s 70 degrees and gorgeous, the next day it can be below zero and snowing and sleeting. When the weather begins to warm, I don’t quite believe it. I want to enjoy it, but I’m cynical, because nine times out of 10, a wicked winter storm is just around the corner, ready to smack us in the face and say “I’m not done with you yet!”

My memory may be faulty, but it seems like the last few years we’ve had snowstorms until May, then suddenly it’s 90 degrees, humid and steamy without an in-between. It goes from snowsuits and blizzard conditions to heat stroke and sunscreen. Don’t I sound like a negative Nellie. I think I liked Spring better when I was a kid.

As a child, I always knew it was Spring when my grandpa would come home with pussy willows. He would fight his way through the neighbor’s marshy swamp and bring a big bunch of them home. The soft, silver tufts along the branches felt like fur, almost like a cat’s paws, hence the name. They are a true sign that winter is on its way out the door. We would spray them with aerosol hairspray and pop them in a vase to adorn our TV stand. It was a wonderful tradition.

Another sure sign of Spring was the ditches filling with flowing, snow-melted water. I spent hours wading up and down Saddle Club Road in my Cabbage Patch Doll rubber boots. The rushing torrents were fascinating as they carried leaves and sticks that turned into imagined ships. Miniature waterfalls appeared overnight, all flowing toward the creek down the road from my house.

The creek was also a magnet in Spring for my best friend and I. I can’t count the number of hours we spent at the creek, building forts out of rocks, sailing sticks downriver, wading when it wasn’t too deep and drawing chalk pictures and Tic-Tac-Toe boards on the cement under the bridge. We felt especially fortunate that we had a waterfall under our bridge. You couldn’t see it from the road unless you were on foot and leaned over to look, but it was about 4 feet high when the water was flowing. A time or two the water was too tempting, even in Spring when the water was freezing cold, and we decided to go swimming. It was enough to take my breath away when the cold shock waves coursed through my body, but I soon adjusted to it. We couldn’t handle staying in long, but it was a harbinger of long summer days in the creek to come.

Last year, a giant puddle formed in the ditch by our cornfield. The kids were ecstatic as they built bridges of old branches and attempted to float pine cone boats through the culvert. The weather was really warm that day and soon they were soaked from head to toe. Rubber boots wouldn’t have helped them because the water was pretty deep. Luckily, I’m pretty good at getting mud stains out of clothes, considering one of their hobbies seems to be rolling in dirt. Imagine their disappointment when no puddle appeared there this year.

I am looking forward to the hills and valleys being misted with green, because the browns, grays, blacks and whites this time of year are a bit tiresome. I also can’t wait to sit beneath our crabapple tree as it bursts into bright pink blossoms. We saw a robin today, so hopefully that’s not too far away.

BY SARAH NIGBOR