The mystery of Spring
By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
I have two explanations for the mystery of Spring and I use both of them with my kids. Well, I used to use them on my kids. But, since my kids are old enough now to drive a car and pay a house note and have kids of their own, they fully comprehend the mechanics of
Springtime.
I pontificate to my grandkids. And I specifically instruct my now grown-up children – “Hey, don’t steal my thunder. Don’t tell Lizzie my Spring stories – wait’ll I visit in April. Lemme do it. OK?”
The first story is the old Greek myth of the beautiful and radiant maiden Persephone and her capture by Hades, King of the underworld.
How the earth mourned. Gray with grief, nothing bloomed. Then, the story goes, Hades
relented and let Persephone take an elevator, escalator, or staircase to the upper world – but for only six months.
The flowers rejoiced, the apple trees rejoiced and the sap flowed again in every living thing. Spring sprang. When the captive took the “down” escalator back to the shady land that never knew the sun, the plants again were brokenhearted.
The second story…the one we believe today, though more scientific is
far less poetic. Two spherical bodies, the earth and the sun, each weighing billions of tons hang in an infinite void. (At this my curious grandson interrupts to ask “What holds them up?”)
“Gravity,” I confidently answer. A word that only represents our infinite
ignorance. (He’s not grown up so he knows my answer is ludicrous, but he’s old enough to know he should let me continue.)
Spring, the awakening of the plants that dwell in the backyard, is also an awakening to the young mind that only knows what it sees.
In November it noticed that the apple tree was leafless and dead. In May, it’s alive with cotton candy blossoms. And there’s talk around the house of apple cider, and apple pie. Not to mention a fresh apple with your school lunch.
What happened? There used to be a swathe of dirt along the back yard fence and now there’s a yellow jonquil fresco by Degas.
It’s magic. Kids love magic.
Kids love stories about trees. So, on this holiday tell them about the acorn that turned into a 40-ton tree that shaded six-year-old Melinda’s house; an easy-going tree that allowed them to tie a swing on his lower branches. Tell them how that old oak tree will patiently
serve Melinda and her children and her children’s children for three generations of humankind. Remind them that 50 years from now some child, now patiently waiting in the womb of infinity, will thank her unknown grandmother, Melinda, for shade and a nice swing.
Kids love Spring, because they love trees and magic. And they see clearer than us the magic in the green family of trees.
My grandson, Jonah, turned five the other day. His parents gave him a party. They even hired a magician fully dressed in cape, wand, even hat. The kids went wild. The magic man hid things and he transformed things. He violated the laws of gravity. But he couldn’t make a tree.
I asked him, “Hey, Tu B’Shevat’s coming – make a tree.” Instead, he
pulled a quarter out of Jonah’s ear. Big deal.
In early Spring every year, I tour our back yard with one grandchild after another. “See that stick standing in the ground, Jonah? Well, in a couple of weeks it’ll sprout some leaves. And by the end of Summer, it’ll be a miniature, two-foot tree.”
Kids love miracles. One Spring day a few years back Jonah, the birthday boy, and I were touring the yard.
“Jonah, hey look. See that stick poking up out of the ground? (Actually, the “stick” was
the product of four seeds planted last Fall. Since I have no knowledge of plant genetics, I attribute my success to my ethical behavior during the Winter. Usually, I get two sticks. Once, I got FOUR sticks because from October to April I never, not once did I raise my voice to my wife’s relatives. They visit frequently at mealtime.
This time, however, I got only one stick. It was a tough winter for
me and my in-laws.
“So Jonah – see the stick?”
“Sure.”
“Well, wanta see a super magic trick?”
“You’re gonna turn it into a candy bar like the magician at my birthday party?”
“Nope – a lot better than that. I am going to say the magic word, which is ‘Tu B’Shevat’. I am going to wave my magic handkerchief over the stick. And you and I, in three years, will come back to this stick, which will turn into an apple tree. We’ll sit in the shade and eat apples. Then, you can climb up to the top of the tree. Is that a
trick or what?”
The normal five-year-old grandchild says thank you and then tries to get a handle on the concept of time. How is three years different from next Wednesday?
But this one, with a few ragged DNA threads from in-laws in his bloodstream, complained about waiting so long for his magic trick.
That’s when I went from oak trees to bean vines. Plant them in April and by July you’ve got yards and yards of vines decorated with bean blossoms.
Remember what Bill Gates said: “Fortunes are made by fools like me, but only G-d can make a tree.”
