March 20, 1997

Dear Leslie,

Maybe because spring itself is such a chlorophyll-powered fireworks display here, people don't make much noise about the first day of the season.

No walking through the streets at dawn singing "Wild Thing." No gathering beside the Mississippi to eat a teaspoonful of mud, a ritual to symbolize our bond with earth and the river.

It's a shame, really. These would be appropriate gestures to precede the riot of pansy, the riot of clover and azalea blossoms yet to come.

In one of my former Northern California homes, the vernal equinox is occasion for All-Species Day. People dress up as a favorite animal and parade around the square. Eat vegetarian burritos. Play Peruvian pan pipes.

My friend Julie used to be the mayor there in Arcata. I'm trying to imagine the mayor of Cape Girardeau, a lineman-shaped attorney, dressed as a raccoon. Still trying.

For DC, the onset of spring means it's time to visit the Easter chicks. She annually tours the local feed store, running her hands over the feeders, making me nervous. She would live in a chicken coop if she could.

One of her patients has a family rabbit they treat like a dog. That's meant in a good way. The rabbit has his own room in the house. Her patient reads the newspaper in the rabbit room early each morning. The rabbit runs off with sections, a chase ensues.

DC likes the pet rabbit idea. I remind her that Hank and Lucy are diabolically astute at breaking and entering rooms they aren't supposed to be in. We'd come home one night to find tufts of fur wafting about the house, like in a cartoon.

Thankfully, this time DC came home with only a new parakeet, a young yellow male to replace the old blue female who keeled over a few days ago.

She can't stand burying her little loved ones, so the blue bird is lying in state in a planter in the foyer until I do something about it.

An acquaintance came by to deliver something today but didn't mention the bird so delicately positioned in the fern. Maybe that's one of those things only friends will tell you.

I associate the coming of spring with certain songs, probably because that's when they were first heard. The Kinks' "All Day and All Night" is a paean to the bubble of hormones. Spring cleaning to the Clash's "London Calling." A jazz tune my brother used to play, "Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most." Clunky title, gorgeous melody. Bill Evans' "Blues in Green."

Spring is musical. The silence of winter is about to be broken by the startling sounds of mating birds, frog choirs, bats on balls, drums in garages, windows thrown open, the Friday night parade of car stereos on Broadway.

The first day of spring there in Southern California passes much like every other day. Experiencing spring in the land of eternal spring requires an awareness of subtle chances, an attunement to soft transitions.

Wherever you are in the Northern Hemisphere, these are the days for singing your songs. Chanting "Wild Thing," eating mud.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.