Pieces of Northern California springtime (Lema Ranch, bottom left)
(Candace #12) — When I attended college in the bluegrass hills of Kentucky (never mind how long ago), spring break marked a dramatic turning point.
Winter-weary, we couldn’t go south fast enough for that week between quarters.
It always seemed, magically, that winter passed the baton to spring while we were gone. We returned to longer days, greener grass, stunning wildflowers, chubby bees and trees bursting with new life.
It became really, really, really hard to stay indoors and study. All we wanted to do was hang out on grassy lawns and socialize. Or sunbathe on the roof of the dorm. It was warm enough for evening motorcycle rides, ice cream, T-shirts and shorts.
The South has a distinct smell and feel that’s difficult to describe unless you’ve lived there. The humid air, mixed with new blossoms, acted like pheromones on our already charged hormones. It’s not a stretch to say that romance was, indeed, in the air most of those spring quarters.
It’s been a few years (again, never mind how many), and I’m miles away in a different part of the country, but I cannot shake that seasonal imprint. Each year around this time, I get hit with a big case of spring fever (hay fever, too, but that’s beside the point). Sitting in the office makes me jumpy. I look for reasons to run errands. The word “meander” headlines my mental marquee. I find myself wishing I had a boyfriend — then I remember that I married him (ha, ha), and romance is not relegated to the promptings of springtime.
It’s undeniably magical to watch the seasons change. Sure, some parts of the country scoff at the idea that Redding actually experiences winter, but the shift is unmistakable to us locals.
And I’ve got the fever. Catch you on the river trail……
You know you’re living in Atlanta in April when you leave the house for work in the morning and realize your black car has become a yellow car overnight, thanks to the pollen.
Achoo!!!