A LESSON LEARNED
Spring is in the air! The crocus has poked their heads through the snow. A robin hops across my lawn in search of a fat juicy worm. Buds have appeared on the trees and the days are getting longer. These are all very definite signs of spring in my part of the world. Everywhere I look there are signs of rebirth. The Canada Geese are flying overhead, their honking calls advising others of their species that it is now safe to fly north and build nests in which to hatch their young. Though many of these splendid fowl stay in the area year round, many others migrate to the cooler climate of the north.
When I step into my yard, the smell of spring hangs in the air. The thunderous sound of the ice breaking up on the Grand River that winds its way like a ribbon through the Grand River Valley is long gone. Great chunks of ice that were in the river two weeks ago have long floated away to Lake Erie. Maple syrup has been made, with much hard work and sacrifice on the part of the entrepreneurs who produce the thick, sweet treat and the farmers in the area are checking their land daily to see if the ground is drying out. Planting time will soon be here.
As I take in all of these signs, memories of springtime adventures on the farm where I grew up come to mind. There was always so much to discover on the farm in spring.
One of my fondest memories has to do with something that was strictly taboo. The gravel road near the line fence on our property had a culvert running under it. This culvert was a two-foot pipe that allowed run off from our property to drain into the neighbor's creek. In spring, we were strictly forbidden to go near that culvert. But, knowing children, you will realize that being forbidden just made us want to do it more.
My brother, Ted, and I were born adventurers - ready to explore and try most anything at the drop of a hat. One spring afternoon when the ditches were overflowing with water and the road was closed just below our property because of flooding, we decided to go to the culvert and watch the fast flowing water rush into the creek. We pulled on our rubber boots and coats and started down the lane. Our younger sister, Linda, ran after us, calling for us to wait. We explained to her that she was too young to come along but she insisted. Hands on hips and jaw set firmly, she said if we wouldn't let her go she would tell Mom what we were up to. Disgusted and angry, my brother and I looked at each other. He shrugged. What could it hurt if we watched her carefully? Linda tagged along.
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