Making reality of those dreams of summer
February 23, 2005
I know it’s only late February, a full month before the official start of Spring, but the urge to get back out in the garden, or to polish the winter grime off the boat, or to pull out the maps and plot a camping trip is nearly irresistible.
When I saw a woman carrying a bag of outdoor potting soil to her car the other day, I could imagine the same colorful blossoms she was anticipating brightening the mornings of her future.
And then reality struck. March is one of the worst of the bad-weather months in Colorado. Summertime fun is still a few months away.
But, like when the unopened gifts are stacked around the Christmas tree, anticipation is part of the enjoyment of summer.
This year I promise to take better advantage of the season. There have been years in the past when sitting in the house on a gray, dreary February day dreaming about summertime provided the most delight of the season, because when the reality arrived I was too busy to enjoy the moment.
That’s one of the drawbacks of our modern lifestyle. Never before have we been able to take so much pleasure in the natural beauty of this great state, but we too often squander the opportunities.
We can get out of the urban hustle and escape to the mountains for a couple of days of fresh air and wilderness serenity in little more than an hour or two. Instead we stay close to home, stuck to the routines and demands of our daily lives.
This summer will be different.
I can already picture the family dogs romping down a mountain trail, sniffing for the next adventure to spring to life – a joy that they’ve been denied too often in summers past. I’m anticipating spending more time on that boat, which last summer didn’t get nearly as much use as its monthly payments should have provided. And this summer those golf clubs, which spent most of last year neglected in the garage, are going to get their hardest workout ever.
If you have kids, take some friendly advice.
My dad worked two jobs, six days a week for most of his life. Like another fine man I’ve read about, his only rest came on Sundays.
For six days of the week, he was gone before everyone else in the family rubbed the sleepiness out of their eyes. And when he got home after dark, there wasn’t enough time or energy left to accomplish much other than getting a few hours sleep before the alarm went off again.
But Sundays were different. The five of us would be in the seats of the sedan and off to the mountains we’d go. Dad wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, but he had a deep need to make this weekly pilgrimage on most Sundays of the year.
I used to think he required this therapy because of his love of the mountains, and that probably was one ingredient. But as I look back on it, that probably wasn’t his most important motivation.
I think it was the only time he could guarantee that the family was together for a few hours, without the distractions of home.
Instead of the kids being down the block or across town with their friends, they were in the back seat within reach of mom and dad. Instead of hanging around the neighborhood with little new to do, they were enticing a chipmunk to venture out of the rocks to grab a peanut, or shrieking with delight while dipping their bare toes into an icy-cold stream.
It wasn’t easy coexisting with three snotty kids in the car, but the rewards must have been worth it. He’s no longer around to confirm my suspicions, but I suspect he enjoyed those moments more than any others.
Looking back, I know I did.
