The March Sun
From 5th grade on, I grew up in the Colorado mountains. Before that, I was a Southern California girl, and before that a North Carolina toddler, and before that a Georgia baby. During my years in California, I don’t recall thinking much about the sun. It was always shining. We had a swimming pool in the backyard, suburban neighborhood sidewalks to ride our bikes on, and an Avocado tree in the neighbor’s yard with low-hanging fruit near our fence.
Then our suntanned family moved to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. The first thing we did was buy more clothes, including heavy coats, hats, and moon boots (nylon-covered foam boots, kind of like marshmallows for the feet.) My mom bought us some Frostline kits and my sisters and I made our own goose-down-filled mittens. We also discovered long underwear, priceless.
Gradually, our Coppertone tans faded and we transitioned into Colorado-style tan lines which bore a strong resemblance to a Raccoon mask, only ours was white over a tanned face, the aftermath of wearing ski goggles. We became sun worshippers of a different kind and we no longer took the warmth of the sun for granted.
In the early days of March, after bundling up all winter long, I suddenly felt the urge to put on my shorts and a bikini top. Even though there was still at least two feet of snow on the ground, I would trek through the snow with my bare legs, shovel out the shed door, drag out the ladder, and put it up against the back porch roof line. With a towel, suntan lotion, and a boom box I made my way up the ladder to the warm asphalt roof and waited for the sun to warm my shivering body. Occasionally, the breeze would die down and for a moment, I was laying on the warm sand listening to Jackson Browne sing about the sound of a distant radio. Or, if my younger sister was with me, we were most likely listening to Air Supply or Barry Manilow. Sometimes we’d just pack down the snow and prop up a couple of lawn chairs and for a few precious moments, soak up every drop of sunshine into our light-deprived skin.
Ahh the March sun, playfully darting in and out of the clouds, teasing me just enough to take off my jacket and then put it back on again. I guess it’s feeling a bit of spring fever too. I appreciate it so much more than I do the July or August sun. Fortunately, it just keeps showing up day after day, doing the work, and encouraging me to do the same. And on days like today, the work is simply doing nothing more than soaking up the March sun.
