Spring in Indiana

So it's spring now. And I am here in Indiana. I feel so far from home, sometimes, when I think about the little, familiar things of my life. The change of seasons usually sparks memories for me of rituals and traditions back home.

In spring, in New Jersey, one of my rituals was to take my first barefoot walk on the beach as soon as it was warm enough to do so. Right now my feet are itching for that grainy sand - warmed by the sun, crusty with salt and fresh from the winter's solitude. I am imagining the bright blue sky, golden sunshine burning bright overhead and the churning ocean waves, their soothing sound echoing through me. The breeze brings in the smell of the salty sea, as it leaves its mist upon my skin. Pure white clamshells, black muscles, pink scallops and blueclaw crabs litter the beach, deposited here from the last winter storm. The gulls cry overhead, cruising the sky above the beach for a tasty treat - possibly a fish, a clam or even some poor visitor's sandwich! It is a peaceful stroll down the sandy beach toward the shore. It is something I can do in my sleep, I've done it so many times before. This is my home, my roots, my history. The salty sea is in my blood, a piece of my heart, ingrained in my every part of me.

Spring in Indiana is different. Of course there is no ocean beach to stroll. No salty sea breeze. No clamshells or seagulls or ocean waves. In Indiana, the sun still shines bright. The sky is still a beautiful, expansive blue. The birds appear at the feeder, their songs and chirps creating a lovely racket out my window. There are buds on the trees. Crocuses and daffodils are beginning to emerge from the cold earth. There is new growth abound. It is beautiful. But it's different. It's new. It is something I have to learn, a history I have to wait for. I'll have to create my own ritual for the beginning of spring here. I can't very well take that first barefoot walk on the beach. But what can I do?

I'll plant a garden here. I'll dig my hands into the earth and create something new. I will make my mark upon the soil, and plant seeds that will sprout new beginnings. I will grow flowers, vegetables, strawberries and memories. And next year, when the first day of spring arrives and I am itching for that walk upon the shore in New Jersey, perhaps I will have new rituals to guide me, new memories to comfort me, and a new history to bring me home.