Turning the Corner

As I write this, it's snowing again in Worcester. Spring break week at Holy Cross has been all winter– the sun hasn't made an appearance since Tuesday, and the latest snowstorm has been in no hurry to traverse New England. I'm one of a few Jesuits in my community who braved the conditions to walk to his office today, preferring to work there rather than from home. I enjoy a good separation between the two spheres, and as this is my eighth winter as a New England resident, it takes much more than 10 inches of snow and 25-mph winds to foil my 7-minute walking commute.

Stairway to Beaven Hall
College of the Holy Cross

However, last week, spring seemed to be just over the horizon. Sunrises were edging closer to 6am. Nights were getting "warmer." Daytime temperatures in the upper 30s (and occasionally 40s) were nibbling away at the snow cover, revealing grass that was matted and pale yet seemingly ready to sprout anew when the time was right. A colleague in Oregon who blogs about her gardening had posted pictures of an Algerian iris in her yard, flowering right on schedule in late February. Spring Training games were underway. I knew better than to think that spring's arrival was imminent, yet I knew that we were turning the corner from one season to the next.

Seasonal transitions are among the many qualities of living in New England that I savor. While the four seasons are rather distinct in this part of the world, the changes between them are relatively similar. Spring seems to gently, even unconsciously, yield to summer– by the middle of May, it gradually becomes hotter, and eventually it's time to say farewell to crisp evenings for a few months. Likewise, summer may try to extend its warmth into September days, but as sunrises grow later and sunsets grow earlier, autumn asserts itself with greater authority. Likewise, after several weeks of radiantly colored  foliage and a rich interplay between the dwindling warmth of the sun and the gathering chill of night, winter closes its grip with increasingly frequent frosts, and then arrives undeniably with the first big snowfall. There may be some back and forth in these seasonal shifts– an early snow in October, an errant blast of heat in April, a cool spell in July– but the progression from one season to the next never seems to be in doubt.

The change from winter to spring, on the other hand, is in a league of its own. It's not so much a transition as a struggle; thought its end result is inevitable, the process of getting there is never straightforward, and can sometimes seem very much in doubt. The stretch from the last days of February to the first days of April always intrigues and astounds me in its unpredictability. The arrivals of summer, fall, and winter are pretty reliable; it's the coming of spring that seems to require true faith. Winter seems poised to play hard until the bitter end this year, so I'm already confident that we've got one good spring on the way... and that it will get here, someday.

St. Joseph Chapel
College of the Holy Cross

In reflecting upon past struggles from which I've ultimately emerged with greater wisdom and experience, the problems I've overcome despite periods when no solutions were in sight, the shift from winter to spring becomes an apt metaphor. Looking at the state of our nation's political scene, or at the issues attending the papal transition in the Catholic Church, one could be justified in wondering what the future holds, where a positive way forward lies, and who may be the figures to lead and accompany us along that mysterious and uncharted route. I wouldn't dare to hazard a guess, but I need only look out the window to have faith that we'll get there, someday. For although it's cold and snowy yet again, I'm sure that we're turning the corner to a new season, even if it's a longer curve this time around.