Congratulations, fellow denizens of the Fox Valley. We made it through.
The vast, gray, frozen wasteland that is February is now behind us, and hope springs eternal in the hearts of all Midwesterners.
No, misery and evil have not yet been eradicated from the world. The catastrophic events in Ukraine serve to remind us of that.
But March provides the first hint of dawn, the orange-red shoots of light springing from the horizon. Not yet providing actual warmth, but pregnant with its anticipation.
For whatever reason, March is an evocative month for me. Growing up downstate in Champaign, the weather patterns were slightly more accelerated, and March seemed to bring a more springlike feel than up here. As such, my memories reflect that first real spring day – you know, that one, maybe two-day stretch that miraculously pops out of the lingering winter gloom and just radiates. Inevitably, and I do mean inevitably, that day would bring first joy and then sickness.
You know the drill. The sun is out and for the first time you can actually feel its warmth. As a young man, it was only normal in those parts to shed your shirt to feel the warmth on your skin and go outside to shoot hoops in the driveway.
Problem was, the actual temperature was perhaps just above 50. It only FELT like 70. The following days provided a nasty lesson (forgotten immediately each year) in the difference between appearance and substance.
Then there was the lake. Now, living up here with such ready access to Lake Michigan, Lake Geneva, Door County, etc., our idea of a “lake” is very different from those who live smack dab in the middle of that immense, rolling ocean of land that is the American Prairie. MY lake was actually the cooling pond for a nuclear power plant. Lake Clinton, it was optimistically called. But it was just large enough to sail on, and in an ocean of land, any small body of water looks like Tahiti to a lost sailor. Such was Lake Clinton to me.
On those joyous March days, I would often drive the 45 minutes or so to Lake Clinton and just sit on the shore and breathe in the water. For hours. It’s impossible to describe the feeling, really. Perhaps it could be best summed up as “hope.”
Well, that glorious day soon approaches. The storm has passed, and while a few storm clouds linger, we can finally see the skies clearing and the sun slowly approaching. Thank the Lord.
One thing – keep your shirt on when shooting those hoops.
