Crocus in our front yard (photo, above) remind us that spring is coming. But for our family, there's something more important in heralding spring.....
It wasn’t hearing again the tsk-shrrrrr of the red-winged blackbirds on a walk last week on our local nature trail. Nor seeing the first crocus open. Not even realizing it was warm enough for a light jacket instead of the ski coat.
The true test of spring here was going on the traditional family covert search for the first buttercup of the spring. Last Thursday, I’d taken a final, weary bite of dinner leftovers when my husband spoke the magic words: “I have that feeling that one is waiting for us.”
“Give me ten minutes to wash dishes,” I pleaded as he hunted for a trowel and empty margarine containers. Soon we were headed to his secret location: a hillside in cherry country that gets most of the day’s sun.
In a tradition that may stretch back a couple generations, the Zorneses have tried to outdo each other in finding spring’s first buttercup. In recent years, my husband has won the race. One year, however, his homebound mother had friends aka “spring spies” who dug and delivered one to her before her son (my husband) got out for his own search.
The candidate we found had a tight-fisted bloom, but a day in window sun coaxed out the yellow. He made that sneaky call to his older sister, the other “race” participant (now that their mom has died), and left this message: “I want you to know that there’s something on our table.”
When the phone rang about twenty minutes later, I risked answering it, “Buttercup Headquarters!” (Whew, it was his sister!)
Traditions. They mattered to Tevye, the milkman father-of-daughters in “Fiddler on the Roof.” And they’re part of what makes family, “family.”
Besides the buttercups, we’ve had a candle-studded watermelon in lieu of a cake for my husband’s birthday. That began in his boyhood, when his June birthday usually coincided with the family’s involvement in church camps. Not able to bake, his mom substituted his favorite summer food, melon, for the candle-holder.
Other Zornes family traditions: the red “You Are Special” plate for birthdays and other honors. Ice cream bars after school concerts. Driving to a hillside neighborhood of half-million-dollar homes for a million-dollar view of July 4 fireworks (please pass the popcorn to the back seat).
Spring also means (ugh) rose pruning time, but I’ll save comments on that for next time.
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