Late winter thoughts turn to spring, marbles and snipe hunts

I think I’m tired of these recent Wednesday snowstorms, and I also feel that I’m ready for spring. Really ready.

We just had a visit from our eldest daughter, Michele. She and her husband, Jeff, have 17 beautiful acres near Brenham, Texas, where the wonderful Bluebell Ice Cream is made. (My favorite) spring has already arrived in Brenham, and she reports that the beautiful bluebonnets have begun to bloom, the trees are greening up and she and Jeff are busy beautifying their 17 acres.

I remember not so long ago, when we lived in the Houston area, that I never finished raking leaves from the trees until February. Spring is a time of year in southeast Texas when the temperatures are mostly pleasant, and there are some beautiful days to enjoy.

Michele phoned yesterday and it was 80 degrees and sunny. I was almost envious, until I recalled those 95-degree days, from the end of May until October, that we tolerated while living there.

When I, in my childhood, lived in Douglas, Alaska, we looked forward to the longer days and milder temperatures of spring.

Douglas Public School (one school for all grades from first through 12th grades, with 125 students in total) had a playground covered with “tailings” (the sandy leftovers after the gold ore was processed, to remove the gold) from the defunct Treadwell Gold Mine. It was a coarse surface, but worked well for our playground.

We knew it was spring when we were able to begin playing marbles. We boys each had a sack full of marbles, our bags, which either collected more or was depleted of its contents, based on the skill of the boy. As I recall, mine was pretty consistent in its load.

The girls played hopscotch or jump rope on the section of the playground they claimed. If the weather cooperated, there would be a maypole set up and there was a bit of fun with that — should one enjoy dancing around the pole. I never acquired the skill — thankfully.

One other spring activity I looked forward to, in the fifth and sixth grades, was a class picnic, that our teacher, Mrs. Peters arranged for us at Sandy Beach. Believe it or not, we did have a beautiful beach on our side of the Gastineau Channel. It was a popular spot for summer fun such as picnics and swimming.

The morning arrived, so instead of arithmetic and English to keep me occupied, it was picnic time. Whoopee! And to even add more fun to the event, my sometimes friends, Bobby Reiss and Louie Pusich, invited me to participate in a Snipe Hunt.

To think, they chose me to assist — hmmm.

I was handed a large burlap sack (gunny sack) and a stick and directed to a wooded area maybe a block away from our picnic.

Louie told me to crouch down behind some bushes and wait for the snipes to arrive. I had no idea what a snipe looked like. Louie described what sounded like a turkey to me, but what did I know? Obviously, not much.

“Be quiet and don’t move while Bobby and I are going to drive the snipes toward you. When they are driven up to you, hurry and drive them into the sack with your stick.”

I took this all in, and wondered how long I’d have to wait. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too long, don’t make a sound, but wait until we drive the snipes to you!”

A couple of hours later, when it finally dawned on me that I had been left behind, I made my way to the picnic area to find that everyone had left.

Including Bobby and Louie.

You know, to coin a phrase: I was left holding the bag.