Jersey Shore Magazine

J e r s e y s h o r e • S p r i n g 2 0 1 6 98 HOME PORT Spinning Into Spring by Frank Finale A March wind springs up, whitens the ocean waves, and blasts the trees clean. It's the invisible voice of spring sweeping the land free from winter's clutter, allowing it to breathe and bud anew. A turn in the weather as the Earth turns toward the Sun—a little warmer now. We shed our heavy coats for lighter jackets and short sleeved shirts. The fields and gar- dens that were brown just a couple of weeks ago begin to take on a greenish hue. More people come outdoors to walk and run. A group of helmeted bicyclists glide by the baseball field where uniformed children play ball. Shouts of "Go, Go, Go!" ring out as a player rounds third and heads for home. At the gym in the mini- mall, the stationary bikes are placed outside on this warm spring day hoping to lure new members. The instructor faces the bikes and enthusi- astically calls out commands in sync with the music: "Up, down, small turn of the gear to the right, accel- erate. Good!" The mixed bunch of cyclists in shorts and tee-shirts shout "Whoo hoo!" as they towel the sweat from their foreheads. They're spinning into spring, physi- cally preparing for the long bicycle rides at Island Beach State Park and elsewhere. Others are just here trying to get in shape for their summer clothes. Spring time back again reminds me that the seasons here are cyclical, always coming, staying awhile, then going—a gypsy of sorts, part of a caravan bringing with it special wares of the season: hyacinths, daffodils, robins, swallows, newborn rabbits, squirrels, kits, and goslings. Along the great Atlantic Flyway, ospreys, herons, and sand- pipers silhouette the sky returning home to the Jersey Shore. A honking chevron of geese heading north fly over a river of cars on Route 9. Stuck in morning traffic, I look up. For a moment, I wish myself free from this expanse of highway and idling cars. Leaving the geese and their resonant honking, I tune in on some of my own music, a little bit of U2's "It's a Beautiful Day" and promise myself to reconnect, get to the beach soon, and listen to the roar of the waves instead of the roar of cars. After arriving home, these seasonal changes make me more aware of the moment and jolt me out of my numbness and the mechanical existence of living through the winter months. To celebrate this change, I change into work clothes and head out to the garden. I thrust a spade into the soil pre- paring it for spring planting and breathe in the smell of the rich garden loam. I pick up a clod of dirt, run my fingers through it, and feel its moist heaviness. The Sun's rays and my work bring shiny beads of sweat to my forehead. Pausing, my eyes fall on a patch of the garden where the hyacinths my wife planted years ago grow back every spring. Alas, although she's gone, their hues of blue, pink, and white still color my world, inspiring me with their sweet fragrances. On a balmy May day, I keep that promise I made to myself on Route 9 and drive over the Mathis Bridge to Seaside to see the ocean. There are no lifeguards present and there are more gulls on the beach than people. I flip off my shoes and socks and walk down to the tideline where I slog into the burning cold water up to my shins. With cupped hands, I toss some sea water on my face and over my head to feel what the Atlantic Ocean is like before the swim season. I splash around for a couple of minutes, then stagger back up into an ocean of warm air. Sacred salt drops sparkle on my arms and legs. I sit on a towel and dry in the Sun's rays as I watch the sandpip- ers peeping and flitting in and out of the waves. Soon a cotton-like mist rolls in and envelopes me and part of the beach. The taste of salt still on my lips reminds me of the great depths of ocean and air that surround us. That evening, my friend Joan and I sit on the sand just staring at the stars and listening to the breaking waves. The next day over a cold drink and clams on the half shell at a patio restaurant near the ocean, we philosophize how one must sometimes leave the house of consciousness and ego to experience the things of this world—the common everyday things that most of us just pass over because we are rushing from one place to another and no longer need to experience them on a deeper level for our day- to-day existence. Yet, this is the very thing we need to do in order to immerse ourselves in the joy of living—to be present in the now, to see, hear, touch, smell, and taste the things we passed off as "been there, done that." We both resolve to try to become more aware of the moment, to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Spring, again, gives us that chance to see things anew. At the bar across from where we're sitting, two fishermen loudly spin tales of the fish they caught this week. Just then, three gulls glide over us, reminding me of my past writings, and bring us back to the present moment of enjoying another day at the Jersey Shore. ◆ Frank Finale is the author of the books "To The Shore Once More, Volumes I & II" and "A Gull's Story, Parts 1, 2, and 3" as well as coeditor of the anthologies "Under A Gull's Wing" and "The Poets of New Jersey." His new coffee table book, "To The Shore Once More, Volume III" will be in stores in May 2016. Mr. Finale will be giving readings, meeting readers, and signing books at numerous events this year. Please refer to pages 8 and 9 as well as www.jerseyshorevacation.com for more information about his books and appearances. Kelly S. Andrews

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