I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in my bones. Spring is seeping into my world. The signs are everywhere.
Birds are on the move. A sound struck me yesterday as I was taking out the trash, a familiar sound. I looked up and there they were: A huge “V” of tundra swans flying north, several thousand feet up. Birdsong on my neighborhood walks feels more joyous, more urgent.
A flock of mallards has stayed here in St Paul all winter. Every evening, they fly from the Mississippi River to some ponds at the University of St Catherine’s. All winter long, it had been a ragged string of ducks flying. This week, for the first time, they were all in pairs.
Bulbs are poking out of the black earth. Smells are wafting, and buds are swelling on tree limbs. The squirrels, lean from the winter, are scampering in search of a snack.
Springtime is coming, albeit slowly. And I am not just talking about the weather.
The longest winter of my life is over. After a year of heartbreak and disruption, soul searching and quasi-homelessness, I have found my home, my routine, my rhythm.
It has taken time. Travel and the simple, mechanical fact that I moved here with no furniture other than an office chair has meant that my house has, until now, felt hollow and echoing, a place to sleep and make coffee, not much more.
Now I have my routines again, and they are different routines. I rise with the light steaming into my basement bedroom eager to start my day with coffee, a slice of homemade rye, a little messaging with friends, puzzles like Wordle and Spelling Bee; I am almost always a “genius” on that one, and I’ve missed Wordle only once. [cue nerd emoji]
It has been those friends who have grounded me. You know who you are. Our interactions, which range from silliness and memes to deep talk about Big Problems, are what has helped me normalize this new life of mine. I could not have done this without you.
I’ve found my Third Places, too. Lifetime Fitness, a half-mile from my house, has helped me regain my strength. Centro, a pretty decent restaurant just blocks away, has let me recreate the “Cheers” life I lived long ago: A bar and restaurant where everyone knows me, where I know the menu and the regulars. My beer, a Size 7 IPA from Steel Toe Brewing, appears in front of me as I sit down.
A bar in walking distance has been a game changer. No, I am not plowing through six beers a night, far from it. I’m typically a two-and-done guy. But Centro is where I’ll go to watch a game, or when I just don’t feel like cooking. Or if I want a little conversation after being alone all day.
I’ve started reading more, partially because I am solo, partially because I’d wanted to break my old habit of watching TV at the end of each night. Again, a friend nudged me into this, and for that I am grateful. I just finished my sixth book of 2024, Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel. I know six is not that many books, but hey, I’m trying. Up next is Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman.
On days when I am not at Lifetime, I walk my surroundings, sometimes going six miles or more. This has been vital in giving me a sense of place, a sense of what my home looks like, smells like, feels like. Highland Park is a nice section of St Paul, and virtually everything I need I can walk to — even a local hardware store and paint shop, rarities in this age.
It’s on these walks where I hear the birds and see the slivers of spring poking up. And I can only notice them because, finally, I am in one place long enough to send my own roots into the ground.
The capper came last week, when I hosted a little gathering at my house, my first since well before I left California. Only six people, all friends into mushroom hunting (we’ve dubbed ourselves the “Mushroom Mafia”), and it was a classic Minnesota potluck. I made the hot dish, my friend Jaime a sauerkraut-and-porcini stew, my friend Heather an arugula-and-fennel salad.
We laughed and talked and drank until well after 11 p.m. on a Wednesday. When everyone had left, I rinsed all the dirty dishes to clean in the morning, swept the floor, and drank in the lingering smells of company: food and hair products, hotdish and beer. I stood there a long while.
I was home.
Welcome.
Good to hear Hank! I am in a hard winter in my own life right now. Your post gives me hope that the seasons do change. Thank you