Rites of Spring

Contrary to popular belief we do have seasons in southern Arizona. Spring here means orange blossom fragrance that floats on the breezes for miles from it's source. Spring here means afternoon winds that make one curse on your bike rides. And spring here means allergies just like anywhere else.

I talk to my parents every weekend, back in Ohio, and mom is readying the garden plot. She talked of the soggy ground, removing decayed leaves and twigs from the area and having to postpone the cleaning up because of too much moisture. Her boots were being sucked off her feet as she walked in the mud and debris.
Spring back in Ohio has a much different fragrance and feel than here. It's wet and earthy and promising. It's looking up at the weak sunlight begging it to warm your bones so that you can maybe shed the jacket, sweater, and shoes even. It's finding the first robin perched on a branch of red buds. It's hoping that the green shoots of daffodil and crocus don't get covered by yet another layer of snow.
It's a feeling of excitement as a child because Easter is just around the corner with giant chocolate bunnies and permission to eat hard-boiled eggs in your lunch for weeks on end.
One particular spring I woke to sunshine and snow melt and dug the shorts out from the bottom of the drawer, refused to put on shoes and ran out the back door. I remember how cold but so inviting the wet, green ground felt under my feet as I started to the swing set. Mom yelled at me from the back door-"Cheryl Ann, you get right back in this house and put some shoes on!"

"Go to hell!" I answered back.

I think I was in third grade at the time and I was called back into the house to get my first taste of soap on a toothbrush.

And now, I can add the fragrance of Ivory soap to remind me of springtime.




These are the kind of hats we used to get at races in the 80s. Painter hats! Attractive hmm?
Thank god for Headsweats!