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.
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