This morning, it happened. I was driving south on the Post Road on my way from Riverside into town when I looked through my passenger-side window and there, peeking their small heads out of the ground, were the first signs of spring. Just last week the snow was melting and the ground was still hard. But even then, I looked; I always do. If you live in Greenwich, you probably look too.

Because sometime in early March, when the sun begins to feel incrementally stronger and the days are becoming incrementally longer, we start to anticipate a welcome change. In just a few short weeks, Crocus Hill will be bursting with color, and there is something truly remarkable and beautiful about that. In our town, it’s a springtime rite of passage. But as wondrous as it is to see the hill in all its glory, there is something meaningful about looking and waiting and anticipating the hill not yet covered in new life.  

I love the feeling of anticipation. For me, it is always amazing to arrive, but the time right before I get to where I am going is pretty good too.

Growing up, I spent a month every summer on a small island in New England. We would pack the car, drive through Connecticut to the New London ferry terminal, then ride the ferry for an hour. While I have many memories from our island vacation - beach bonfires, Thursday night dances and long bike rides - the time spent on the ferry stands out as well. I can still smell the sea air, hear the blasts of the horn alerting passengers of a departure and the blasts of the foghorn during inclement weather. I can hear the swishing of water along the metal hull and the clanking and positioning of planks when we docked. I recall searching for the navigational clues along the way - a buoy, a lighthouse - that would indicate that we were almost there. I adored that ferry ride; for me it signified the start of vacation, and gave me an hour to dream and imagine the month ahead.

Not too dissimilar are my thoughts about roller coasters. I am not much of an amusement park girl. It’s been years since I have been on anything scarier than The Scrambler, but when I was a little more ride ambitious, I remember clearly the feelings associated with the slow climb to the peak of a roller coaster ride - tik, tik, tik. It’s during that gradual incline that your mind begins to anticipate, the fear builds, and, for me, my stomach drops, and I wonder, “Why the heck did I ever agree to do this?” The rest of the ride is loud and fast; there is no time to think, just scream. It’s during the anticipatory ascent that our feelings are the most intense and we feel the most alive.

Some of you might remember the old Heinz ketchup commercial from 1979 set to the Carly Simon hit, ”Anticipation”, where two freckle-faced boys sit waiting patiently for the ketchup to come out of the bottle. In it, they wait, and they watch, and they wait. They know what’s coming, and the wait seems to make the hamburger eventually smothered in Heinz ketchup that much more delicious. The waiting is key.

In a conversation between Pooh and Piglet, A.A. Milne put it like this:

“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.

These days I try to keep one foot in the here, appreciating this experience, but my other one is dancing quickly towards the future. It is emotionally luxurious and sometimes necessary anticipating an enjoyable event or occurrence. That anticipation can get us through a tough day or time, offering a respite from stress and promising comfort and happiness down the road.

And that brings me back to the beautiful buds that are knocking on earth’s door. Along with the coming of spring, and as we pass the one-year mark of the pandemic, this year we are awaiting life post-pandemic. Most people I know are getting tired of masks. Many are getting vaccinated or searching for an appointment. We are ready - more than ready, actually - and so close to opening the doors and letting the fresh air in we can almost touch it. The nights are getting shorter and the sun is getting warmer and we know that there are better days ahead.

We are the small boys watching with great expectation for that ketchup to saturate our burgers. We are climbing the rickety old roller coaster, clinging for life, waiting for the thrill. I am back on the boat that is ferrying me to a month on an island. And I am driving on the Post Road, looking, lingering, hoping.  There is something magical about this moment, the right now.

But I can hardly wait for the glory of full bloom on Crocus Hill.