Spring gives us a clean slate
Springtime flowers begin to break through in Centereach on the afternoon of March 24, 2014. Credit: Newsday / Thomas A. Ferrara
Finally, spring has sprung upon us, freeing us from the cold, dreary winter.
Snowdrops, crocuses, tulips and forsythias explode with color against the dark, rain-filled sky. We take out our best umbrellas and put on our rain boots one foot at a time. Drivers race through huge puddles out of mere amusement, and students, at least some, resist the temptation to jump into them.
Once the clouds open up and the sky returns to azure, Long Islanders come out of their houses and welcome back the sunshine. Spring is a symbol of renewal and a clean slate. I feel replenished and anticipate the variety of spring activities not because of the sunshine and flowers, but because of the memories associated with them.
When my mother and father were children, their parents encouraged them to spend days outside as soon as it was warm. Dad played Little League baseball every weekend in Williston Park. Mom meticulously drew the delicate petals on flowers in her sketchbook in Hauppauge.
Children have always been entranced by Long Island's beauty and promise of adventure. When I was a baby, my mother and father introduced me to the outdoors with frequent visits to West Meadow Beach in the Town of Brookhaven.
My earliest memories are of being tightly wrapped in a terry cloth towel by Mom, while trying to wipe the thick sunscreen off my face.
When I was 9 years old, I spent the season with neighborhood kids in a treehouse my father had built for me. English ivy wound around the little house as my younger self and friends enjoyed the long-awaited brilliance of the springtime sun. Spring has always made me feel lively and electric. The arrival of green grass brought intense soccer games, catches in the yard with Dad and morning runs.
One spring, my father and I went fishing at the mill pond in Setauket. Dad's tackle box had almost everything -- lures, hooks, extra line and of course, lunch. Only Dad would put two bagels right next to the bait, which consisted of earthworms that we dug out of the backyard.
On one warm afternoon, we checked that our baseball caps were on straight and dropped lines in the water. We were about to wrap it up by 4 when Dad got up to greet an old friend. Suddenly, a strong tug pulled me forward. My heart raced as I realized I had not caught a fish, but rather a snapping turtle! I started to panic as the reptile focused its eyes on me. Just as Dad ran over, I dropped the pole into the water and turtle swam frantically away. That day, we went home laughing.
The journalist Hal Borland once wrote, "No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn." How right he was.
Reader Emily Paul lives in Setauket.
