Hang on folks—spring is on the way ~ March 28, 2002

David Heiller

We headed out for a walk at 6 a.m. on Friday morning, March 22. Cindy and I like to start our day in Brownsville with a walk, and there are plenty of places to go.

We headed to the railroad tracks, then turned north. That’s when we felt the wind. It raced up the river and stuck us in the back like a dagger. We hadn’t gone far before we turned around and faced it head on going home. It cut through our clothes.

This was the second day of spring?

But when we got home, sunlight was pouring through the upstairs window like melted butter. And despite the chilly wind, it somehow carried the promise of spring. It told a hopeful story.

David, Grandma Schnick and Cindy
in her sun-drenched home, 1980.

It reminded me of my grandma, who lived there for almost 40 years. How many times did she awaken to that same golden light and have it brighten her day? Maybe that’s why she was able to brighten my day so often. She was passing on the sun. Last Friday morning, I could feel her spirit in that familiar old kitchen more than ever since she died 13 years ago.

We gave the morning walk another try on Saturday. Bright and early again, and armed with a cup of coffee from the Kwik Trip. We headed down the tracks to Wildcat Park. The wind didn’t stab us this time. Α fragile layer of ice edged the river. It coated the rocks and driftwood, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Α red-tailed hawk shoved off the top of maple tree, on the move, like winter. Red-winged black birds crackled in the cat-tails. Now then is a sound of spring! Their red patches shined like medals on a five-star general.

We heard and saw more on our last walk on Sunday morning. First the stop for the cup of coffee. The clerk at the store told us she had taken her sons to the Gander Mountain store it Prairie du Chien the night before. On the drive there they had seen a bald eagle carrying a snake in its talons. “It was this long,” she said holding her hand about four feet off the floor.

Cindy and I headed south again, then west past the wastewater treatment plant, and around the edge of town. Wildcat Creek wound its way to the river on our left. Beyond it rolled hill after hill. They basked in the early light like fresh loaves of bread on a kitchen counter.

Going even a little further south for spring was helpful!

Cindy pointed out some pussy willows. Then she told me to look on the side of the hill. I squinted. It looked like small animals were grazing in the short grass. “Turkeys,” she said. I raised up my binoculars. Sure enough, about 25 wild turkeys were strutting around. The toms, with tails unfurled and chests puffed out, wove their way through the crowd as deftly as a movie star at a cocktail party. The hens kept their heads to the ground, in a walk that seemed both modest and resigned.

We got back home and packed our bags for the 250 mile trip home. I knew we’d be returning to a landscape of Styrofoam snow and frozen sap. But that didn’t matter.

You could feel it coming last weekend. Spring. My grandma helped me feel it. So did the other love of my life, my wife. Oh yes, and Mother Nature.

Hang in there, folks, it’s heading north. Get those tomatoes started.