2 min read
Posted on 03.30.15
  • 2 min read
  • Posted on 03.30.15

The impending return of baseball is just the icing on the cake. It's the spatula-smoothed buttery cream, adorned with colored petals, flourishes, ribbons and rosettes, a richness that surrounds the deep moist goodness of a leavened confection.

Springtime in St. Louis is the sweet baked dish beneath. It's the season that slowly and steadily reveals itself, beginning with the single crocus and small cluster of daffodils, building with proliferation of fuzzy magnolia buds biding their time, and the greening of stray crabgrass that stakes its claim and unsettles the uniformity of zoysia's proud brown crewcut.

Then comes a warm sun and parade of happy, loyal dogs, walking their owners, one at the end of their leashes, the other noses to the ground. There's the growing armada of trash barrels on wheels positioned next to a succession front yard flower beds, stationed by ladies of the house in gardening dungarees and muddy clogs, hastening the annual rite of renewal by collecting and hauling the detritus to the green dumpsters in the alley.

Even the city bureaucracy sends seasonal greetings - as the Board of Public Service approves the emergency removal of logs and debris from the Chain of Rocks water intake, the tidying of sand traps at the Forest Park links, and issuance of permits galore to flood our streets and parks with charity runs and walks, kickball melees, festive remembrances of a Mexican battle that took place in Mayo, and coming together to express deep gratitude and extend help to vulnerable veterans who want to stand down from our streets.

The light lengthens morning to morning, evening by evening.

Maybe in St. Louis, though, it's the other way round. Springtime is the tower pedestal and sublime decoration - and baseball takes the cake.