Sub Terra Vita Chronicle #37: Questing for Normalcy—In Spring

Sub Terra Vita

By Tim Krenz

February 29, 2016

Chronicle #37: Questing for Normalcy—In Spring

Spring conjures memories, good ones, indeed. For some, both the worship of things in faith and in the religion of baseball combine the powerful twin belief that, yes, Nature and Nature's God give a new life to everything, and, yes, the favorite baseball teams, local and major league, will win the championships and the World Series.

Ninety-six years ago, someone quite famous invented a new word, more a corruption of the English language by mistake than any witty misuse of it. That word, “normalcy,” came to represent much more than the never-definable “normal,” or “normality.” What does normalcy mean as a state of existence? As a by-product of something not good or bad, and not quite average, old, new, or extraordinary, what does a sense of normalcy offer life here in the Valley of the St. Croix River? Several future installments of this column explore this concept of normalcy in the Valley, and it begins by the normal things of spring soon upon us.

First, we think of a good spring, the soft ground of wet muck—the oozing, thawing ground; and the melting of the ice and snow prisons which confine our winters mostly indoors, entombed in grateful cabin-hovels of warm refuge. We get snow, slush, sleet, and warmer rains of March and early April. The greening warmth begins, and the glowing sheen on us from the heaven-dwelling sun brings a new season of freeing optimism, the budding trees, flower pods, and more solid dirt. Some winters gave harder fevers of hellish cold, like the Magna Polar Vortex three winters ago. This year, we have had a mild winter. As we emerge we see growing earth, and we can feel a sense normalcy.

Not just nostalgic moments, and far from the ideal we hope we can live, spring in the Valley brings forth a great deal of consistency. Before preparing the fields for planting, farmers finish calving livestock, those renewals necessary to replenish the herds. High school kids ponder futures, either taking tests that over worry their young minds about the future, or they find a career and job which will support them.

Seedlings start indoors for certain plants for later replanting in outdoor dirt. Seasonal workers begin their year. Permanently working parents continue to raise their families. The lucky and the blessed, both fortunate, get to live. The roads clear and motorcycles and bicycles roam. Churches prepare for and celebrate Easter, families eat dinner, and opening days of baseball all over the country get one day closer. All of this happens each day of late winter to mid-spring, every year.

Treasuring them, these happenings have no approximate currency value. We appreciate about spring what we can, would, and certainly should gratefully love about life. We get sun, warmth, and rain. Food grows. Futures become closer to reality. Roads lead somewhere, especially back home. We celebrate, in faith, the new living year. We all rejoice, when we remember that we live to do something we have not done: experience the day after yesterday. Hot dogs and hamburgers will grill. Peanuts in the crate will start fresh. Bats, gloves, cleats, uniforms, and baseballs get out of storage. Infield grass gets trimmed and the boxes and lines chalked. Fans wait for that day when the season begins, along with it the new hopes of championships.

Instead of creating things to divide people, communities like greater Osceola have much to unite them. Every community, anywhere, does. Spring in the St. Croix Valley—spring everywhere—gives us a chance to remember that truth. Does this sound like normalcy? I think it should.