The lack there of. I have found that snow builds character. The coming and going of seasons with distinct definitions of the effects of those seasons are important to my survival. When the first frost occurred on my lawn, It was time to dig up the gladiola bulbs and make sure the leaves have been raked off the ground. When the first snow fell, it melted on the warm rock it landed on; however, the temperature continued to drop and the ground acclimated to the surrounding degrees to allow this beautiful form of water blanket its inferior matter with a glow of clean crisp snow. When the layers of snowfall accumulated, each crystal, with its own distinct shape, created a grave of fallen angels for a young child's enjoyment. For nothing brings greater joy than to bundle up in snow pants and fall in the snow, laying there as it slowly makes your back grow numb. I remember making snowflakes out of folded up paper, cutting little triangles and slits to create an interesting design, and during some storms, I would focus on single flakes that fell infront of my face and land on my black mitten and realize that God's design of every flake far surpasses my simple paper-cutting skills. Their three dementional structure lasted only for seconds on my warm hand as they changed from solid to liquid to gas.
These dreams of snow would be all that infiltrated my mind in the September, October months when all the leaves had fallen and I had my fill of leave forts. The snow too would loose its mystery come late February. By this time, I was ready to see the tulips pop out of the stone hard garden next to my front door. For once I saw their green leaves protrude through the soil, I knew that spring was on its way.
Spring brings joy. I can take in a deep breath without discomfort in my lungs. Breathing in the scent of trees blossuming and grass growing is like none other. The first day my parents would let me run outside with my bare feet was always monumental. Shoes are for the civilized I thought, and I preferred the barbaric. The spring also brought spring cleaning of my playhouse in the back yard. I would sweep out the dirt that might have accumulated over the winter and wash the curtains as they got to be dusty. I remember enjoying laying on my front sidewalk and letting ants run over my legs and hands; they would tickle me, displacing one hair at a time. I would form a triangle around them with my thumbs and pointer fingers to try and force them to climb on my hands. Once they did, I would make a jungle gym out of my fingers, creating different paths for them to crawl on.
The main distinction between spring and summer was the lack of school. For summer always took me by surprise with the temperature slowly increasing till it hit its max in the 90s. Summer also meant it was soon my birthday. And my birthday was my second favorite day of the year after Christmas. Summer meant I could wear shorts (if it was over 60 degrees outside). If it was over 70 degrees, I could turn on the sprinkler and play in my contrived rain; it's funny how running back and forth through a moving flow of water would entertain me for hours. Above anything special about summer, going to my grandparents' cabin topped everything. The drive took one hour. The drive is straight up Highway 55. It only requires 7 turns from my driveway to my grandparents' driveway which I found so fascinating. I would always wear my swimsuit before leaving home, so once we arrived, I could run down the stairs and jump in the water (which is usually where I would find my grandparents).
Summer always felt short, especially as I age. The wind started to blow. The trees transform from a monochromatic shade of deep green, to multiple varieties of yellow, orange, and red. Driving into Wisconsin stunned me to see the fields of trees with their vibrant colors fill my vision. These deciduous trees created a dream of a playground when they dropped their leaves. I would rake and create a maze of walls and paths with the thick cover of leaves. I loved putting on a sweater and warm socks for the first time and feeling the wind grow stronger against my neck. I knew that as the wind grew stronger, as the trees grew naked, and as the degrees diminished, winter was on its way, and the cycle started all over again.
Living in a climate void of the distinct seasons leaves me lacking. It is good to remember the feelings every season brings. I appreciate Aldo Leopolds book the Sand County Almanac with it's different depictions of every month of the year. The different animals he viewed, the different feelings he had with the days passing. As Thoreau says,
Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.
That is my goal as I live in a different climate than what I grew to love. I want to continue to appreciate the beauty and subtle changes the sun brings around me in San Luis Obispo.
