Waiting

We waited for days like today.  Reluctant mounds of snow melting.  Puddles.  Mud.  With the first few days of spring, sometimes earlier we knew it would come any day. Bike riding weather.  At least a month before we would shine up our bikes, inflate the tires and sometimes add a horn or glittery streamers for the handle bars.  

Every kid in the neighborhood had a bike with a banana seat and sissy bar handlebars.  Despite urging my mother to conform, I rode my second hand, heavy red bike with fat wide tires. Hand brakes were fashionable, but I had a one speed with a mechanism that activated the brake with a backward stroke of the pedals. The weight of the bike made it difficult to keep up with my friends. It seemed that I worked doubly hard with others who had three speeds- I had one speed:  slow. My mother held onto the belief that, “if it's not broken, why replace it.”  Quinn’s Bike Shop was near St. Mary’s School and I would start my journey home window shopping.  Sometimes I would go in and stroke the gleaming bikes. Then check the price tag.

When I was in 6th or 7th grade, I saved babysitting money I earned to buy myself a three-speed blue bike from Sears.  That bike frequently took me to the beach 15 or so miles away.  The hours it took to get there and back required short liberated visits, a quick walk on the beach followed by a picnic lunch.  It was nearly an all day excursion.   I went alone, frequently trying a different route and discovered that all roads have their share of hills.

On days like this-sunny with the earth thawing I think of the thrill of those first bike rides.  Soon the carriage roads, now soft with whispers of winter will be ready for riders.  I sure could use my rugged, red bike with wide tires.  

In Preparation of Mud

Three days of unrelenting snow fall, albeit tantalizingly white, fluffy and yes beautiful was followed by today’s snow showers and mud.  Mud oozing with melt off.  This made for a careful dog walk, while Rex found the perfect spot to deposit.  For days now, while wearing my fashionable suede boots my right heel would get wet, only my right heel.  This is expected with slushy conditions, but I also found that I got wet in mud, despite my careful walking. Closer inspection revealed a spidery web of cracks in the sole of my boot.  Spring is nearing.  I can feel it, but can I manage another month with these boots? 

So comes the notion of spring.  A season that both sooths the senses waking to the sound of chattering birds or wrangles the adult psyche when one realizes clean floors are impossible during the time of mud.  So every soul in New England who is responsible for house cleaning tries to avoid the stuff when walking outside, but that is also an impossible notion.  So, the only solution is to wear rubber boots, daily.  You know the kind that rise up to your knees in case of a flash flood.  My old trusty navy blue pair also sprung a leak.  For weeks now the local stores have taken great care to attract the consumer with huge displays of the rubber boots that now rival great museum quality art with the funky colors and designs.  The bright yellow rain boots of my youth are hard to find. 

Just a week ago, I passed one of those big displays in the Ellsworth Tractor Supply store.  Last week, in the throngs of winter, spring seemed so far away, but today with the tease of mud I needed those boots.  Carrying a mental list: cat food, check on the details of ‘Chick Days’, rubber boots, I pushed through the main entrance of the store and headed without a cart to the shelves of bags of cat food.  Indoor, outdoor, kitten food, weight maintenance… the forty pound bags were lined up neatly on the shelves.  My husband quickly followed behind, grabbed the familiar light green bag of indoor formula (the only kind that seems to keep the hairballs at bay) and   we headed toward the back of the store where we conjured images of fluffy balls of chirping spring chicks all hankering for food and the warmth of the heat lamp.  My husband lugging the bag through the store, made a quick dash for the check-out.  I swiped my debit, grabbed my slip and my husband was already in the car, when I realized I did not buy my boots.  The display was no longer.  I cocked my head this way and that standing on tip toes in an attempt to see the artful footwear as I walked out the store, but all I saw was Carharrt tee shirts and cowboy boots.  No rubber rain boots.

The forecast midweek calls for another wicked snowstorm.  I am just hoping that the snow and cold will last, just until I can don my brand new not so yellow rubber boots.  Just in time for the mud.