Living in California for over
thirty years, I’ve grown accustomed to two seasons – Winter and summer with a
splash of spring thrown in for good measure.
Here we normally have relatively tempered weather year round. You can tell it is summer by the color of the foothills – “gold” is
what the romantic books will call it – brown or yellow is what the people
living here call it. The grass is dead
due to the low rain received between April and November each year.
In Connecticut where I grew up,
seasons were much more distinct, more pronounced, more easily recognized... AND there were (and are) four of them!
In the spring there might be light
rain showers and thunderstorms, melting away snow and revealing milky gray soil
and dead grass underneath. Soon the
grass would turn green, the blossoms on trees would sprout and the trees would
turn luscious, deep shades of green.
You’d see lots of sand on the sides of the road, remnants of the snow
trucks winter work. Lakes and ponds
would thaw while water life renewed itself with polliwogs, turtles and
fish. Birds would build nests and watch
over their eggs. Everything refreshed
itself after the cold winter.
Spring would give way to summer,
sometimes hot and humid, the air so thick that even at night the earth would
hold it hostage making it hard to sleep.
From my open bedroom window the symphony of chirping crickets and
croaking bullfrogs could be heard until the early morning sun crept over the
horizon. Summers also meant that school
was out of session and we could spend nights staying out later and sleeping in
for a few months.
Labor day would signal that it was
time to go back to school followed quickly by the temperatures starting to cool
down and trees beginning their transformation from glorious greens to brilliant
orange, red and yellow hues signaling that fall was indeed in full swing. Almost as quickly as the leaves had turned
color they also lost their essence and fell to the ground where we would rake
huge piles on the lawn so that we could jump and hide in their crunchy
mounds. The grass would start to become
stiff and change to winter brown and we knew that soon it would be Halloween.
Around the corner, winter would
sneak in with nights so cold your breath became swirling clouds of white. Soon you would awaken to a white blanket of
snow covering the grounds and pray that there would be enough to make the
schools close down so you could stay home and play in it. The trees now stripped of their leaves would
stand like tall poles in the snow reaching up to the gray skies. Routines now consisted of throwing dirt on
icy sidewalks and shoveling driveways.
Weekends were for sledding down our own hill, skating on our pond and
building snow forts and snow men in the yard.
I can remember times when the pond was thick enough with ice to stand on
yet transparent enough to see the ferns and muck beneath the surface.
While not always one-hundred percent reliable, often the seasons themselves
told us when it was time for school to start, for Thanksgiving to arrive, the
groundhog to appear, Easter to be celebrated and school to end. Mother Nature and life working hand in hand.
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