The Optimism of Spring Break
(And no, I'm not at Panama Beach this week)
It is the last week of March, the first week of April, and the countdown to Easter Sunday has begun.
I’ve submitted the first draft of my second novella to my beta readers. I’ve composed my out-of-office reply. The massive suitcase is packed, so is the tote bag of snacks. All that is left to do is throw some crafting supplies into my daughters’ backpacks, make sure the cats are fed, grab extra chargers, and fling our haphazard selves into the Toyota Sienna and lot God decide our fates.
It’s the first day of spring break for my family.
Every other year, it involves getting on a plane and flinging ourselves in the direction of relatives for a week. It usually means Brooklyn, Texas, or Seattle, all of which are places that I genuinely enjoy visiting.
However, this break, no planes will be involved in our travel, or visits to relatives. Instead, we are digging deep into my own storied history, and…loading up the minivan to go to a state park for a few days.
(If you lean in closely, you can smell the spilled peanuts and sticky coloring books)
Oh, yes. I’ve done the ‘mom’ thing. I’ve found things to do on the way there–more state parks! Local history! I might even shove them into a petting zoo! Whether or not I leave them there to be raised amongst the goats is up to fate and fate alone!
Abandoning wayward family members at a petting zoo aside, I’m excited for a number of reasons.
First of all, the simple fact that I’m not dealing with the insanity that is the average American airport right now is relieving. Long lines and the presence of additional Federal force, plus cranky and scared travelers, is not an ideal way for me to spend time with my husband and daughters.
Instead, we’re meandering down I-65 to a place that I spent most of my spring breaks as a kid, which is one of the largest state parks in Indiana. It has all the amenities of a fancier retreat–indoor pool, game room, on-site restaurant and bar–but also has immediate access to hiking straight from the doors of the hotel. No extra driving.
There’s even a nature center on site, as well as paved paths for my girls to ride their scooters. Dang it, kids, we are going to enjoy nature AND learn at the same time!
But I’m excited to see the little bits of nature slowly coming out after a winter. Most folks prefer coming to vacation at places where it’s warm, where nature has openly nurtured everything to be sunny and pleasant, enough for you to relax and enjoy.
I like that too, but there is something soothing and smile-inducing, watching the tiniest parts of nature come out. Getting to view this is the equivalent of seeing a sneak peak of what nature will be offering in a few months, when all is in bloom.
I loved coming to this state park as a kid, because, only a few hours south, spring had come a little earlier. The fairy umbrellas would be popping out of the ground, no snow having touched them. Dutchman’s breeches and buttercups are also sneaking out at this time too.
I don’t know what the weather is going to be, though. Which is perhaps why many folks I know raise their eyebrows when I say that I’m subjecting my children to enjoying local Midwestern delights of the outdoor variety when we have no idea what mood the weather is going to be in. It’s almost foolish to be optimistic in this type of situation.
But it’s delightful when all goes well.
Spring can be an optimistic time.
It has the potential to be a disappointing experience, too.
I should know. I live in the Midwest.
A lovely warm day can be followed by a snowstorm. Growing buds might be slammed back into the ground by a confusing mixture of hail and sleet. Your track meet might end in a blizzard.
I ran a 5k a couple of weekends ago in a local forest preserve–my fastest time ever. I don’t credit my training, however–all of the praise belongs to sassy Mother Nature, who looked over Busse Woods and decided, “Ya know what will make these clowns move faster? 0 degrees C temps and a wee bit of frost! Hustle, kids!”
I was not going to mince around in running tights while it’s cold outside. I may be a lot of things, but one of those people who wears shorts year-round is certainly not one of them.
I still wore layers. Hoodies and vests are a storied part of any Midwesterner’s wardrobe. When it gets warmer, we can shed them, stuff them in backpacks when need be.
But jogging through the woods, I saw the buds, sitting on the trees. As if winking at myself and the other runners in the event. It was as if nature was saying, “give me a bit, I have to finish getting ready, then I’ll be out”.
During the COVID pandemic, six years ago (!), I became obsessed with finding little bits and pieces of nature when I walked outside.
The first, sassy blooming of crocuses were my favorites. Glowing different shades of purple and yellow against the cold grass. The tiny snowdrop blossoms, and naturally, my neighbor’s massive magnolia tree, always getting ready to show off its beautifully scented flowers right before Easter.
I loved taking close-up shots of the flowers, finding beauty in their frail strength, the delicate petals, laced with veins the same way a piece of human skin would.
It was as if the flowers themselves were reminding me to keep my head up, to focus on what was directly in front of me.
I can not control the world, the weather, none of it. I often wished I could as a kid (because who likes riding their bike in the snow?!).
No human can, try as we might. But what we can do is focus on the here and the now.
Knowing this has given me a little slip of optimism, which I find that we all desperately need right now.
As I hike and drive and run through the woods, in a place not terribly far from my home, I will hunt and search for those blossoms, those little cautiously optimistic things that know that they can survive a Midwestern spring.
That signal that warmer, brighter days are coming our way.