Rights of Spring
Rights of Spring
By Brunonia Barry
I've never understood why the New Year starts on January 1st, right at the height of winter instead of in the spring. What's new about it? Here in New England, January, February, and usually all of March are more of the same old same old: more cold, more snow, more ice, more darkness. I understand that the winter solstice means that the days are getting longer, and we've turned the corner on winter, but you'd never know it by looking at our heating bills. If we've turned a corner, it must be a blind one, because on January 1st, spring is nowhere in sight. Usually there isn't a hint of spring until early April, and even then we get the occasional freak snowstorm sent our way to remind us not to get too giddy just yet.
In Salem, we are not a giddy people, but there are certain signs of spring that lighten our mood. These signs have nothing to do with flowers and robins, but they do have to do with birds of a different feather: snowbirds. I have come to believe that every seasonal business in New England is run by people who winter in Florida. And who can blame them? In any case, those snowbird businesses are now coming back, and the signs are everywhere. Here's one of my favorites:
The opening of the Lobster Shanty not only heralds spring in Salem, it does so with perfect New England attitude.
It's 61 degrees today, and everyone's out on the streets, high fiving each other with the attitude of survivors. We survived another New England winter, one of the worst in memory. We shoveled snow almost every day of the week, first when it fell from the sky, next when it fell from our roofs. In some cases, we even shoveled those roofs. We spread salt, then rethought the environmental implications and shoveled sand. If we have attitude, we have friggin' well earned it. You want a lobster? Get it your own damned self!
It's a good thing that the tourists don't start showing up in Salem until mid May. They find us a whole lot more hospitable by late spring. By that time, we have almost forgotten the three-day storms, the stocking up on food, the fighting for shoveled out parking spaces. By the time those heralded May flowers arrive along with the emerald green lawns and the blooming dogwood, the cutting ocean wind has turned into gentle ocean breeze. We have all but forgotten those February vows of "Not one more winter!"
But it isn't May yet. It is only April. And though we finally know that spring has come, we don't quite trust it. I still remember the Nor'easter that dumped 14 inches of snow on us one April 23rd. I'm not going to tempt the imps by making some kind of declaration that the worst is over. Even though I think it probably is, I will never utter those words aloud.
So, in the spirit of Patriot's Day and those contrarians who fought for independence from their oppressors, I will (with all apologies to Stravinsky) declare independence from the oppression of winter by proclaiming my. . .
RIGHTS OF SPRING
1.The right not to have our front vestibule look like a sand, salt, shovel, and gravel storage room.
2.The right to immediately get in my car and drive without having to warm it up and scrape the windshield for 15 minutes.
3.The right not to have to wear a thick sweater, a turtle neck, a waffle T-shirt, and six scarves under a down jacket that makes me look like the Michelin Man.
4.The right to actually leave the thermostat where my husband sets it and not sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to crank up the heat.
5.The right to drink my tea with ice.
6.The right not to grab onto walls, fences, sign posts, parked cars, fire hydrants and random passersby in an effort to stay upright while walking down the street.
7.The right to see the sun after 3:30 PM.
8.The right not to have my nose turn red and start to run whenever I step out the front door.
9.The right not to cause myself a medical emergency when I can't locate my hat, scarf, and/or gloves.
10.The right to happily say "It's too hot out here. I think I'll go back inside where it's cool."
Those are my Rights of Spring. What are yours?
