Here it is February 1, 2010!
In 1975, the year "1980" had such a "futuristic" sound, as though in in the next five years, cars would be traveling on elevated highways and robots would vacuum and dust our houses for us, and here it is 2010! Musing on the date today, I remembered my Uncle Bob's birthday fell on February 2, and of course, my oldest daughter's (Nancy) birthday is on February 13. In Illinois, when she was born, we still celebrated Abraham Lincoln's birthday on February 12, so I wondered if she would make her arrival on his birthday or Valentine's Day. Surprise! She chose the day between!
And, how can a former Midwesterner forget February 2, Groundhog Day, a more significant day in the Midwest than in Central and South Texas where the winters are positively balmy in contrast. We held our breaths to see if Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow which meant six more weeks of winter, or if we would enjoy an early spring.
For those who have never lived north of Oklahoma City, for example, winters aren't such a big deal. But for those of us who lived in the Midwest, northwestern Illinois to be exact, winter was a HUGE deal, and spring was an even "HUGER" deal! Sometimes it seemed as though the older I got, the harder it was to bear up under those painfully cold winters, especially on a farm where I (and most kids) had to do daily chores outside no matter the temperature or wind or precipitation. But, on the other hand, since I loved the animals (except for the really cantankerous roosters who would chase me every chance they got), feeding and watering livestock gave me an appreciation for the souls of gentle cows and lively horses.
I've long since realized I suffered from SAD, "seasonal affective disorder" while living in the Midwest, since the depressed moods concerning winter simply disappeared as soon as I drove across Texas on that very sunny and mild day in December of 1972. Previous to that date, all along the Illinois highways in late August and early September, whenever I saw weeds and grass start to turn brown and dry, a sort of depressed mood took me over--even though October was always beautiful with its brilliantly colored autumn leaves and dry sunny days. However, I knew that dreaded winter was on its way, and sure enough, it was soon heralded by November ) my birthday month (even though we celebrated Thanksgiving), always cold and rainy and/or cloudy.
In December, my spirits were always lifted because of the approaching holidays. Somehow the magic of Christmas dispelled the Illinois winter gloom. New Years Eve we watched New Yorkers party in glamorous ballrooms, dancing to the likes of Lester Lanin and his band, and then the ball dropped, and we went to bed.
New Years Day, January 1, always dawned bright, sunny and very, very cold. Sometimes there was a fresh foot or two of dry powderdy snow on the ground, and it sparkled like thousands of brilliant jewels in the sunshine, absolutely blinding to our eyes. Ice storms were also prevalent in January, adding a dangererous note, yet the trees, bushes, and grasses glistened like diamonds with musical crystal tinkles like I imagined a fairy orchestra would sound, in a dazzling beauty I've never seen surpassed, even after all these years.
So,(in Illinois) by the time Groundhog Day hit, I had spent hours and hours imagining and fantasizing about the best time during an Illinois winter to take off for sunny Florida for two weeks (though who could afford to do such a thing in those days except for my lawyer uncle and his family?) In my fantasies, I always wanted to make sure there wouldn't be many cold days left after returning from Florida, so I figured that the last two weeks in February would be perfect for a southern vacation. It would cut February in half, and I'd be home when the temperatures started to moderate and the ground began thawing, giving us ankle-deep (or deeper) mud in mid-March or so. But, who cared if there was mud when the temps sometimes reached 50 degrees? Though I've seen John Deere tractors and various family vehicles buried up to the wheel axles in mud. We became quite skilled in maneuvering our cars, trucks, and tractors between the two foot-deep-ruts on the half-mile dirt road to our farm.
So...much later on, when we'd study about England's medieval days and the Maypole dancing and festivities celebrating Spring, I knew exactly what that was all about. They had survived another winter of gray skies, dead vegetation, leaveless trees and shrubs and the unbelievable cold. And, much like England, there probably isn't a more beautiful spring than in Illinois, with the vivid bright-green grass, tree leaves and shrubs, the dazzling array of peonies, iris, and lilac bushes, and clematis vines that grow in everybody's gardens, and the soft breezes that welcomed us, the survivors of winter. Who wouldn't celebrate?
