Springs of yesteryear in Toledo
Spring usually arrived a little early when I was a boy and was
greeted warmly.
She is welcome everywhere, but in Toledo, after a long winter
with snow that had become black and worn-out with many feet
treading through it, she was a visiting celebrity.
Despite the calendar she usually asserted herself by St.
Patrick’s Day, although mothers made children wear coats until at
least March 21. Sometimes a light sprinkling of snow fell after
that but no matter, it was spring.
Springs of yesteryear in Toledo
Spring usually arrived a little early when I was a boy and was greeted warmly.
She is welcome everywhere, but in Toledo, after a long winter with snow that had become black and worn-out with many feet treading through it, she was a visiting celebrity.
Despite the calendar she usually asserted herself by St. Patrick’s Day, although mothers made children wear coats until at least March 21. Sometimes a light sprinkling of snow fell after that but no matter, it was spring.
Its initial manifestation included a shedding of winter garments and walking abroad in a new sense of lightness. Residents of areas with little distinction of seasons cannot fully appreciate the heady feeling of the sun on your shoulders for the first time in months. You grinned at other boys without coats on the way to school.
Spring offered many diversions to youngsters who had spent much of the cold weather indoors. Girls carried chalk in their purses to mark out hopscotch grids on the sidewalk. And soon they were skipping rope with cries of “Salt! Pepper! Mustard! Vinegar!” and other chants carried through the ages by the continuous sorority.
Boys got up games of one-o-cat and baseball and ran and leaped and batted with such energy it would have astounded their fathers who noted their listlessness only weeks earlier when told to shovel the walk or take out the ashes.
Most of the neighborhood women retrieved trowels and spades from garages and were soon turning over the earth in the backyard to plant tomatoes and onions, or flowers in the front yard.
On spring evenings families took to their front porches again. Our whole street was lined with porch-sitters. Some porches had wide seats on chains on which three people could rock back and forth, but most had chairs. Youngsters often sat on the railing. Conversations were about everything and nothing but it was a pleasure we hadn’t had since the previous September.
A stroller along the street stopped to talk when greeted, then went on after a few minutes only to be hailed by another family enjoying the evening. A popular person thus accosted could take an hour to walk a block.
Spring weather was often dramatic. Because Toledo is at the tip of Lake Erie, we were subject to the great storms that bred over it. You could walk down the street under a cloudless sky and before going two blocks be caught in a drenching downpour. At least two or three times in the season, the lightning flashing across the night and booming of thunder made it seem like a city under artillery attack.
As violent as they were, the storms were as nothing compared to the upheavals of someone entering his teens. That pesky girl down the street you had ignored for years suddenly was transformed into a beautiful princess, and you became vibrantly aware of her when she appeared at your end of the block. By Easter, you found courage enough to sit beside her at church and the entire world was in a glow.
Where are the springs of yesteryear?
