American Pie: Come Spring
...About mid-May we pack the Jeep with every conceivable thing we could really do without, and leave our home in toasty Florida for our boat in Connecticut. The 1,350 mile, three day drive north might seem onerous to some, but mostly we enjoy it. The roads are fast and good, some of the overnight stops are an interesting insight into very rural parts of the eastern US, and, most of all, at this time of year it’s fascinating to observe the foliage in its various stages of opening...
John Merchant and his wife migrate northwards, appreciating the wonders of an American Spring as the head for nose-numbing weather in Connecticut.
To read more of John's rewarding and satisfying columns please click on American Pie in the menu on this page.
Like the Capistrano swallows and the Monarch butterflies, come spring, my wife and I start to feel the pull northwards. I was tempted to include the Canada Geese, whose migrations used to be the arbiter of the vernal equinox in North America, but at some point in the recent past the geese concluded it was a huge waste of effort to fly all the way south, only to have to make the return journey to the Canadian tundra a few months later. Now, they just sit around Middle-America’s ponds and golf courses year round, getting fat.
About mid-May we pack the Jeep with every conceivable thing we could really do without, and leave our home in toasty Florida for our boat in Connecticut. The 1,350 mile, three day drive north might seem onerous to some, but mostly we enjoy it. The roads are fast and good, some of the overnight stops are an interesting insight into very rural parts of the eastern US, and, most of all, at this time of year it’s fascinating to observe the foliage in its various stages of opening.
As we cross the Florida state line into Georgia, the palm trees and subtropical flora give way to pines and evergreen Live Oak, so named to distinguish it from other oaks that shed their leaves. By the time we cross into South Carolina, the last palm trees to be seen are those planted to mark the state boundary with Georgia. Only the South Carolinians could explain why.
It’s around this point in our journey that we also begin to see wild flowers planted in the median strip and on either side of the overpasses. They make a splendid blaze of color, and it gladdens our hearts to think that anyone in this day and age would be motivated to expend time and money on such an altruistic project. The late Ladybird Johnson, President Lyndon B. Johnson’s wife, lobbied tirelessly to bring about the beautification of America’s highways, and now we are the grateful beneficiaries of her efforts.
As we continue our drive north through the Carolinas, we begin to notice a freshness and variation in the foliage tones that tells us that these trees have only recently leafed. Many of them are still shedding blossoms and catkins in the wind like a snow blizzard. Unlike the more mature foliage further south, the trees at the side of the Carolina highways display a myriad tones, from the pale, slate green of the incipient young sprouts, to the ruddy brown of the maple buds and the darker greens of the chestnuts.
And then, in the lower Virginia peninsular, after we have crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, we begin to see trees that are only just in bud. The highway actually does ride across a bridge over the bay for several miles, and twice plunges below the waves into tunnels to allow passage of the many commercial and military ships that ply these waters up to Newport News and Baltimore. Somehow, the sight of the gray silhouette of a navy destroyer seems anachronistic.
By the time we arrive in Lewes, Delaware; where we’ll spend a couple of nights with relatives, we are at a point in our trip where we debate each morning whether to wear shorts and tee shirts or jeans and sweaters. Almost always we make the wrong decision, but the maximum and minimum temperatures now are undeniably much lower than those we left behind in Florida. As we cross the Delaware River estuary on the ferry to New Jersey, jeans and sweaters rule the day.
By the time we arrive at our destination in Connecticut, we are left in no doubt that we are in more northern latitudes. After a night’s sleep in a hotel, we head for the boatyard where our home afloat has wintered. We step out of the Jeep into a bone chilling, strength sapping, nose running and eye watering wind out of the north. Our inspection of the boat is rapid and perfunctory – it’s just too cold for anything more thorough, and we return thankfully to our cozy hotel room. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.
The next day dawns with gray skies, rain showers and the same icy bluster, but we have no choice but to get the boat ready to move. The yard wants us out of there so we reluctantly start to remove the cover and go through the necessary routines to prepare for the short trip to our home marina. The task of untying the lines that attach the cover would be simple and easy on a warm, sunny day, but is frustratingly difficult in the cold, and leaves our Florida-soft fingers red and sore. Split fingernails and ripped cuticles add to our discomfort. The cover fabric, which is normally supple, is like old, dried out leather in this temperature, and, along with the strong wind, fights all our attempts to fold it.
After just a few hours that seem much longer, we are finally able to motor out of the boatyard and tie up in our slip at the yacht club. We head to our hotel for one last night before we move aboard, and feel good about the progress we have made. But as soon as we hit the warmth of our hotel room, our plans for the reward we had promised ourselves of a nice dinner disappear in a haze of fatigue. An early night seems so much more rewarding.
Though the cold wind and gray skies are theoretically unseasonable, it has been that way for the past several years. But any ideas we might have of starting out later on our journey are outweighed by the chance to see spring in all its stages, compressed into just a few days.
Connecticut now is at its floral best – the blazingly bright, red and orange azaleas, and the more subtle lilac and dogwood are in full bloom. The trees range in tone from the lime green of the sugar maples to the blood red of their Japanese counterparts. No amount of icy winds and gray skies can rob us of that treat, and summer is just around the corner after all.
# # #
