Spring is Here - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

Spring is Here - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

The cold, snow, and ice of winter can be difficult, but there is a promise; the days are longer. Spring is here. Warmth creeps in. Like the flowers, sleeping bears, frogs, and baby chicks, the mitts, and baseball bats are making a move.

I strolled through my yard today with a spring, near leap, in my step and heard the birds: cardinals, sparrows, robins, and wrens singing. Screaming crows don’t seem to know how to sing. I heard the groaning branches of the Linden Tree and noticed flecks of glimmering light passing through early buds. Everywhere I turned, I saw flowers peeking . . . daffodils, tulips, silver bells, and crocuses. I so wanted to plant something, anything, but I know it is too soon. I had tomatoes in mind, but not until Memorial Day said the old-timers. Oops, I am an old-timer.

There also is a smell in the air. I’m not sure what it is, maybe the dense must of dirt, grass, and leaves. Is there a smell of brown, yellow, or green?

GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLAST

People were out and about, walking, talking, saying hello as if they had never uttered that word before. Yes, it has been a long time since I saw so many folks stepping along mask-free with spirit.

Basketball’s March Madness would soon be over, though professional basketball and hockey seasons are ongoing (for too long). Baseball is beginning its march. I could almost hear the crack of the bat. Was the noise coming from Florida? Early spring, when the baseball teams head north and opening day approaches, diehard fans begin to think about the coming summer. Hurry opening day. Bring me the hope of a winner.

The Boston Marathon was sprinting closer. Thousands would gather along the route and at the finish.

In years past, away went the heavy coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. We went outside more often. We taped old balls, rubbed new ones, neatsfoot oiled our gloves, and began to play catch, take batting practice, and go to baseball games as my Dad and I did when my children were playing in high school.

Not all those games in Spring were so easy. Braving the chill on most days, my Dad and I, sitting on frigid bleachers, watched many a game in weather that was too cold. Base hits meant stung hands, gloves or not. (We never used batting gloves). Dad and I wore winter coats and winter gloves and often hustled back to the car to turn on the engine and warm while the kids continued to brave it.

I love all the seasons in New England with their crisp turn from one to the other. When I was a kid, the sports seasons were predictable. Spring meant baseball; fall meant football. We played basketball under the streetlight and a metal hoop. Now all the sports seasons blend, some lasting year-round.

But today, it is about enjoying the oncoming change in the weather and moments when we need to pause, listen, smell, observe and be thankful.