Desktop Dynamo

For every season except spring, I recognize clear lines of demarcation. Summer starts on a specific day. So does fall, and also winter.

Rules of celestial mechanics aside, I refuse to acknowledge the arrival of spring simply because the calendar says it is so. Perhaps it is because spring "officially" begins while things still appear gray and lifeless here in northeastern Pennsylvania. Our air is too cool, snow is still a threat, the tree branches are bare, and our hedges and shrubs look dead, gnarly and naked. In the earliest days of spring, you simply can't tell if winter is coming or going. It feels too much like November

It is not till the first hints of color emerge from this black and white dead zone that I allow myself to think of spring at all. It starts with flashes of green in a few scattered, low-lying shrubs as I zip by them in my car. Next, buds begin appearing on trees, promises of spring's palette of colors soon to come. Dogwoods and cherry blossoms begin to bloom. Colors explode from the landscape.

But does all this new life mean spring has arrived?

Nope. Not for me. In my book, it's not officially spring until I'm hanging out with 70,000 friends in a sea of blue and white at the annual Penn State Blue-White Game.

Vernal equinox my fanny. It's not spring till JoePa says it is.

This year spring began on April 19th, according to my Dynamo calendar. The weather in State College was spectacular. It seemed like plants were blooming by the hour. I was thrilled to proclaim spring was officially in session. (The Blue-White game wasn't bad, either. My Lions will have a great year as long as they never have to play defense, punt or placekick.)

Back at home, with spring underway at last, my after-work walks have became far more pleasurable and colorful. The small grotto near the Anthracite Apartments in Pittston is ablaze with spring color. Birds are everywhere. So are bees. They've built what appears to be a bee kingdom in and around my shed. Wasps, hornets, yellow jackets and heaven knows what other manner of winged stingers are holding my lawnmower hostage.

From now until that bittersweet day when summer arrives and our days begin shortening once again, I will be pretty much in my glory. There will be grass to cut (once I outsmart the bees), weeds to whack, and evenings on the porch watching the sunset.

For eight months (give or take) we Pennsylvanians see nature in her glory. For the rest of the year, we watch her sleep and wait expectantly...anxiously...for the first sign her slumber is ending.

All in all, spring in Pennsylvania is well worth the wait.