The First Day of Spring

It was the first Saturday of spring, and it couldn't have come soon enough. It is rare that the calendar agrees with the weather, and, indeed, that Saturday is the only first day of spring that I can remember where such a match occurred. I was ready for spring, as I always am by winter's ebb.

My lifelong friend Jake was joining me for an afternoon picnic at the farm. I had the picnic basket, which contained all of the gear that would be required. I also had a bottle of wine, which I picked out especially because of the spring theme of the label, which was mostly green leaves and unopened flower buds. Jake was bringing the food, and maybe beer for himself.

We go way back. We fooled around a bit in high school, but neither of us had the confidence to close the deal. Oddly, the fooling around made us more platonic and deepened our friendship. Even well into our thirties, we still have meaningful conversations, mostly by telephone, and tend to not have much in terms of boundaries for our communications. We have grown apart from time to time, usually when one of us has a relationship that is in the all-consuming phase, but we always manage to reconnect when we come up for air.

So, on the first day of spring, my phone rang as I was just finishing up my morning yoga. Eighty-nine straight days of New Year's resolution success. The first such successful resolution of my life. I uncoiled from cowface pose and retrieved my phone to see Jake's unsmiling photo looking up at me from the screen. While he wasn't smiling, the photo was still quite funny and always made me smile. He had a man bun and was looking entirely too serious about himself. It was a phase he went through in his mid-twenties. To this day, I haven't let him live it down.

"Hey Jake, we still on for the farm?" I asked.

"Why hello, Jessie. Absolutely, we are. I can tell you are looking forward to a little bit of spring time" he replied. Sometimes, if I really have something on my mind, I can get a bit of tunnel vision and forget about social pleasantries, but those times are rare. The first day of spring is one of those times, however.

"Jake, you know it's the first day of spring. I've been looking forward to this day for the last six months. Don't harass me too much for it" I replied.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Did you celebrate day eighty-nine this morning?"

"Yup. Eighty-nine straight days of success. I am knocking em down, man. How is your streak going?"

"That is great Jessie. What was the newest pose that you succeeded at?"

"Oh, thank you so much for asking. It makes me feel good to talk about my little victories! Today's victory, aside from my eighty-ninth straight day of yoga, was that I pulled off the feathered peacock." That morning, when I had done that pose for the first time, which is an inverted stand using the wall to balance yourself on your forearms and elbows, it had been a significant challenge for me. I had missed the wall with my feet on the first attempt and may have collapsed on my face on the second. Still, the third try was the charm, and by the end of the pose, I was focusing on my breathing and less on my balance.

"That is great news, Jessie. I am really impressed with your self-discipline. It's really good that you have something that is challenging you mentally and physically every day. Anyway, I called to say that I was going to be out at the farm a few hours early. I know that you are excited to get your spring on, so I figured I would extend you an earlier invitation."

"Jake, you rock! I will be on the road within the hour, so I should make it there by around 11. How were you able to get out of work this morning? I thought that your job had you work most Saturdays?"

"Ha! I didn't. I stayed until I was finished last night, or this morning rather. I am actually driving straight to the farm from work and should be there pretty soon. I plan on doing some yard work when I get there, but might wind up taking a nap in the hammock. You know how that hammock is. She is a bloody siren."

"Super! Did you remember to pick up some food? You know I get cranky when I am unfed. And no one likes me when I am cranky." It is true. If I go about 4 hours without food I become a real bitch. I turn into this person that can see every little flaw and problem with everything, who is also incredibly vocal about those observations. No one likes that shit in their life.

"Yeah... So, momma didn't raise no dummies. I keep a Jessie emergency kit in my car. It has a slingshot included, so I can provide you with debitchification treats from a safe range! I have survived too many encounters with bitchy Jessie to want another. I never know when one of those encounters will be my last!"

"Yeah, if you were so trainable, you would have learned after the first time. Prevention is the cure, my friend."

"Hey, exactly when was it that I became responsible for your care and feeding?"

"My care and feeding is in everyone's best interest. Consider it defense of the collective. You, sir, are an American hero. Merica! Besides, you are a foodie who likes to feed people. I am people who likes to eat, so it is a symbiotic relationship."

"Okay, okay. I will try not to let Merica down. Man, talk about the carrot and stick approach."

"Alrighty, I have to get my bootie in gear, so I can embrace the spring. See you soon, my friend."

"Yep. See you soon."

I hung up the phone and headed for the shower. The shower was somewhat pointless, as I was just going to be romping around the farm all day, but I didn't want to drive over an hour while sweaty or sticky. I slipped out of my yoga clothes, which to this day, I am convinced were among my best investments, and into the shower. The yoga gear separated me from more of my hard-earned money than I liked, but it wound up being worth its weight in gold. I had three pairs of everything and had placed garment pieces strategically within my domicile. A sports bra went on top of the snooze button on my alarm clock, forcing me to grab my yoga gear when I was at my most susceptible mental state for avoiding yoga. My tight little yoga shorts were wrapped around the handle to my refrigerator, forcing me to think about how my ass would instantly grow if I wasn't disciplined while I was in the fridge. I kept the TV remote wrapped in a pair of workout underwear. It was a good thing I didn't have visitors!

The hot water was a luxury that I didn't force moderation upon. I decided to doff my winter coat, annihilating a fresh razor in the process. Sasquatches were a winter animal and it was spring. It wasn't the season of the squatch.

Out of the shower, a couple of swipes of antiperspirant and a thick coating of age fighting spackle later, and it was time to dress. I remember pulling open my underwear drawer and grabbing a wad of color. They were a floral set of yoga shorts and a sports bra, so not of ideal cut to pass for underwear, but they screamed springtime, so they were the big winners who got to go to the farm with me. Next was a summer dress, which was floral as well, but was a little on the hippie side. I knew Jake would give me a little shit about it, but it was comfortable and it spoke the magical spring language to me.

Moments later I was in my car, overnight bag and picnic basket in the trunk, heading East to the farm. Traffic was light, so I was more careful about my speed than I wanted to be. I wanted to put the top down, but my car told me that the temperature was 65, which was not top down, seventy miles per hour, weather. I certainly didn't want to get a chill before I got to the farm. My spring time playlist blared the music I had picked out over the past few months. Happy, outdoor music. The miles flew by unnoticed.

What seemed like minutes later, I exited I-40, taking highway 96 for a few more miles until I turned off on the county road to the farm. The farm was the nickname that Jake had plied to a piece of family land that he inherited when his uncle died about fifteen years ago. Jake had been the only one of his family to like the uncle or enjoy the outdoors, so his uncle's offering went smoothly uncontested. The farm was only fifty acres, of which only the center ten wasn't woods. That first summer, we planted Eastern Rosebuds around the entire ten acres. I hadn't seen them bloom yet.

I had fond memories of the farm throughout college and my early twenties, but I hadn't been there in a while. It was a convenient get away from the University of Tennessee, where Jake and I attended. Even though I hadn't been there in quite some time, I had the route to the farm ingrained in the internal navigation system of my brain. Five years. That was how long it had been since I had been there. July 4^th of 2012. Jake had purchased a ton of fireworks and put on a pretty good firework show. There was a great breeze, which kept the bugs off and the heat bearable, allowing us to sleep outside under the stars. His uncle's cabin had been uninhabitable at the time.

Pavement turned to gravel as I drove over the cattle guard marking the mouth of the farm. Deep, thick forest bordered the left and right of the gravel path, obscuring the view after a few dozen yards. The trees swayed slightly in the breeze, waving their green leaves at me. It was such a lovely spring greeting! Most of the trees were oak, but there were some maple and other hardwoods present. Beautiful. Just beautiful. I felt my face shift into a smile and I swerved my car to match the contours of the gravel road until the road opened to the farm. I may have deliberately lost traction a few times as my glee got a little carried away with the gas pedal.

The farm had changed a lot since the last time I was there. All of the car and machinery carcasses that used to mark the property were removed, and the cabin had quite the facelift. Before it had been painted white, but showing wood under the peeling paint, and sported a hodge-podge cedar shingled roof. Now its walls showed just wood, and the wood had a healthy luster. The cedar shingle roof had been replaced by one of red metal. The wrap around porch had been doubled in depth, and the hand rail had been removed. In all, the cabin appeared to be sleep-worthy and welcoming, which were marked improvements.

The Eastern Redbuds were in full bloom. Jake had become preoccupied with the "Ruby Falls" strain of the plant, and I am glad he did. The entire border of the ten-acre paddock was painted with a thick swath of vivid burgundy. "Beautiful, beautiful!" I said out loud.

I pulled my car up to the cabin, scanning the property for Jake and finding him down by the water. The pond had grown a lot in my years of absence. From what was little more than a mudhole of a duck pond, to what looked like a relatively clear few acres. Jake had been busy. Speaking of the busy man, I spied him sprawled out in one of the two hammocks, wearing sunglasses and bright blue board shorts. I killed the car and exited. I stretched and inhaled in an almost yoga like embrace of the environment. Plant scents were heavy in the air and the sun was warm on my skin. I retrieved the picnic basket and the bottle of wine and headed down to the pond. As I approached, I could hear Jake snoring. He had dodged my question earlier about his eighty-nine-day streak, but I knew that it was fully intact. His streak was the number of days since his last day off. It was only eighty-nine because we started counting from January first to coincide with a New Year's resolution.

The rickety, and unreliable hammocks of the past had been replaced by two huge two person hammocks. One of them had homemade beer holsters woven into all four corners. Jake's love of beer was intuitively obvious, even to the ineptest of observers. At the head of what was a newly hewn picnic table was a trashcan that looked remarkably like a fifty gallon Coors original beer can. Some things never changed, and the thought that Jake was one of the things that went forever unchanged made me smile. I set the picnic basket down on the table and quietly opened my bottle of wine. I poured myself a tall glass and breathed in the smell of the wine, hoping that it would be everything that I had been looking forward to. I am not one of those people that can break down all of the components of a wine based on its smell. What I can tell you is if I like it or if I don't. This wine smelled delicious. Still, it felt wrong to take my first sip of spring alone.

I set the glass down, telling myself that I would just let if breath a bit. Motion drug my attention to the tip of a propped-up fishing pole, which was jerking lightly. I watched the nibbling for a bit, but it didn't evolve into anything more and eventually stopped. I wondered if fish had been planned for the menu today. I found Jake's cooler and opened it, wondering what treasures it held.

Now some ladies are naughty by nature. Not me. I am noisy by nature! I can't seem to do anything quietly. Soon Jake's snoring stopped.

"Good morning, destroyer of silence" I heard behind me.

"You're one to talk, snoring like you were. You scared all the fish away. How are we supposed to have fish for lunch with you snoring like that?"

"Snoring compels their curiosity and draws them in. Kind of like a closed cooler does to a Jessie. I swear, if I was one of those psychos, you would be an easy target. Step 1: load up a cooler with something unfriendly. Step 2: geographically locate the cooler near Jessie. Step 3: Wait. Easy hunting."

"Yeah, yeah. Your asymmetric cooler warfare is truly a representation of your evil genius. What's in here anyway? All of the containers are opaque and screwed on."

"I know. I didn't have any yoga clothes to drape all over the cooler to keep you out. That is my best attempt at Jessie proofing. Keeps the Jessie out of the food until the food is ready for the Jessie. Now, put the food down and back away from the cooler."

"Fine. I am not hungry anyway" I lied. Somehow, I was starving. I guess that excitement burned off the calories in my belly.

He paused, looking at me from his hammock. I couldn't see his eyes because of the sunglasses, but there were more lines in the rest of his face than there had been the last time I'd seen him. His beard was out of control and his hair was approaching legendary. His hair had always been comically thick, and now it was also comically long. He looked closer to cave man than Fabio. His skin was pale, making his hair seem darker in the sunlight.

"It's okay. I got something for your immediate needs in there. And, of course you're hungry. It's spring. You were excited to get up here. You didn't stop to eat anything on the way. I bet you even forgot to eat after yoga. Remember, I am the evil genius in this friendship. You live at my leisure." He did his best evil laugh, which was remarkably good, but still funny and friendly. "Open up the long thin round one on the top. It should do the trick" he said, rolling his barrelesque body out of the hammock.

Jake was not what anyone would call a lithe man. It was really too bad that lithe was so fashionable as he was so far from it. He was powerfully built, but insulated. He'd always joked that his body was built for comfort, not speed.

I withdrew the obvious container and resisted the temptation to shake it in order to attempt to discern the contents. "What is it?"

"A single leaf of butter lettuce wrapped around guacamole, shredded roast beef, with a fruit salsa. Peaches and pineapple. There may be a bit of cilantro in there as well. It should be quite to the princess' liking" he said, with a stiffly professional British accent. We both loved the Brits, or at least what we knew of the Brits from the British entertainment sources.

"Yum!" I squealed, going after the tube like a raccoon after a shiny object. I did my best racoon chitter. It wasn't spot on but it was close enough to get the point across. My efforts were rewarded by a belly laugh from Jake. His laughter was a warm hug to my brain. I hadn't realized how much I had missed hanging with him.

"Also, low calorie and totally healthy." He said, still laughing. Clearly, I wasn't worried about the calories.

I responded with feeding noises as I consumed my wrap. It was refreshing and, somehow, tasted bright.

He pulled the top tray out of the cooler and dug in the ice for beer. He pulled his gold from the cooler and popped the top with enviable no-look muscle memory, which smoothly brought the foaming can to his lips without spilling a drop. He'd been practicing.

"How do you drink beer like you do and not go to sog?" I asked, using one of my favorite British expressions for fatness. I didn't try an accent. Mine are terrible. Jake has all the linguistic skills.

He just showed me bearded teeth as he smiled and took another drink. He finished the can, twisted and crushed it into a neat puck and tossed it cleanly into the mother can. Muscle memory indeed.

"Must be all that yoga I do. I just finished holding the splayed lotus pose for the better part of an hour."

"Is that anything like corpse pose?"

"Yeah, only this one is sprawled out on your back in a hammock will all of your appendages pointed generally towards the cardinal marks. It is one of those mind opening poses. You should try it."

"I plan to. Jake, pardon me, but it is wine time!" I made my eyes go big as I darted for my wine with arms extended and fingers wriggling greedily. After I retrieved the glass, I sipped it with dramatized elegance. Pinky out. Jake laughed, again.

"Shall I show you around the place?" he offered.

"Sure, but let me finish my wine. You know I can't drink while walking worth a damn."

"For heaven's sake, Jessie, I would never place you at such a disadvantage" he said, burrowing into his beer cooler once more. "Sippy Chalice" he exclaimed in a celebratory stage voice, hoisting a sippy cup, that really did look like a sippy chalice that had seen much, much better days, high over his head as though it were a trophy. I almost snarfed my wine, but managed to only spurt a little from between my lips.

He laughed as I wiped my chin, and he transferred the contents of my glass to the sippy chalice, fastening the lid tightly. He even turned it upside down to show how spill proof it was. I took the container from him and unscrewed the lid and topped myself off.

"The shatter proofedness of the sippy chalice is equal to your grace, madam." He said somberly.

"Funny. Very funny" I affectionately condemned. He had me there.

"Jessie, I have reached a new level of beer commitment. I don't need an intervention. I just need a little understanding".

"Whatever, goofball. You know I don't judge you based on your very serious addictions."

He went to a duffle bag by the cooler and withdrew a thick, wide leather belt. It reminded me of a weight lifting belt and was made improbably silly by what appeared to be about ten leather insulated beer cozies sewn along its entire length. He fastened the belt and loaded his bandoleer as I laughed. He even put my bottle in one of the larger, more misshapen, hand-sewn cozies.

"How long will we be gone, Dora? You have supplies for at least a four-hour journey?" I prodded.

"I am just being prepared. Running out of beer is a serious matter and should not be risked. The grand tour of the Glade should only take an hour." He made a flourish of his hands as he said the words that were clearly in air quotes.

"You are renaming it, are you?"

"Yeah, seemed odd to call it the farm since there are no food crops or animals."

"You have a point. But it will always be the Farm to me. Besides, isn't the Glade a little on the pretentious side?"

"It doesn't sound so pretentious when you say the word like a native. Besides, the Glade is the dumbed down name. Originally, I was going to call it The Resort."