takes a week off in February to treat
his wife to a cruise, you can bet he’ll
still be wearing his coat while float-
ing around the Caribbean. No matter
where he is, his internal thermostat is
set for Indiana.
There are other signs of spring if
one is watchful. The deer lighten in
color, the dog sheds, the buds swell,
the snow melts on the south hillside,
and the bloodroot in our woodlot
pushes out its petals. The calf ap-
pears, tethered to its mother by bonds
of hunger. The farmer casts the ma-
nure upon the field, thoughtfully pro-
vided by the aforementioned calf and
mother. Who needs a calendar when
a calf is nearby?
Nothing seems impossible in
spring—a cure for cancer, wisdom in
Washington, weight loss. Anything can
happen, and often does. I proposed to
my wife a dozen times in the winter
and was denied each time, so I waited
until spring and popped the question
a 13th time, an unlucky number. But
even superstition takes a back seat
to the glories of spring, and she con-
sented. Engaged one spring, married
the next. Between that and the Dairy
Queen, what more could one want? RDIf they should drop the ball, Frank
Gladden is sure to stand at our
Quaker meeting and announce that
volunteers are needed for our spring
fish fry. Frank’s announcement is as
reliable as any clock and invariably
tinged with worry and regret that this
might be the last year of the fish fry if
volunteers aren’t forthcoming.
“We’re not getting any younger,” he
announces to the congregation. Frank
is 82 years old, but he’s been saying
that since 1961, so we Quakers aren’t
alarmed. The Fairfield Friends Fish
Fry is as constant as sunrise. If Jesus
were to return on the clouds the day
before the fish fry, the men would sol-
dier on, undeterred.
But let us suppose both the imple-
ment store and Frank Gladden neglect
their duties and we are cast adrift,
oblivious to spring’s arrival. We would
then have to look and see whether Bill
Eddy, our town’s plumber, was wear-
ing a coat.
When the first leaf withers and falls
to the ground in autumn, Bill pulls
on his tan Carhartt coat and doesn’t
remove it until spring. I’ve known Bill
since we were in first grade together,
so I am well acquainted with his
habits. He wears that Carhartt every-
where, inside and outside, and if he
saturday evening post (march 21, 2018), copyright
©2018 by philipgulley, saturdayeveningpost.com.You’d Better Bee-lieve It
If bees made beer, we would be taking better care of them.
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