Spring Forward, the (Tragedy) of Suburbia

In Quito, there wasn't much in the way of seasons. Total daylight varied by maybe forty-five minutes over the course of the year. There was a rainy season to be sure and a dry season as well. But four, well-defined seasons? Forget about it.

Now that I live at a higher latitude, things are a bit different. The days are lengthening noticeably. The golden sun dips into the ocean progressively later each day. Freezing cold mornings, blue skies, warm days, my goodness! it's spring! and what a feeling! What does springtime conjure up in my mind?

Lazy afternoons spent soaking up the sun on Parrish Beach... But more than that, with a Proustian bent, I remember whizzing down hills on a bike in the neighborhood park in Denver suburbs, breathing pungently fresh air mixed in with the occasional gnat, breezing by cattails that lined the creeks streaming by. I remember rollerblading, playing street hockey in the cul-de-sac only a couple blocks away from home, collapsing onto a friend's lawn in exhaustion and being overtaken by the itchiness of rolling around in grass. I remember throwing tennis balls against the stone facade of my house, diving to snag erratic rebounds so that I could play baseball like the Big Cat, Andres Galaragga.

What is it about these pleasant childhood memories spent outdoors in springtime air? They have such a suburban hue, or stench, depending on how you look at it. Subsidized by cheap energy and the interstate highway system. My nostalgia for life in Denver 'burbs, though, is not tinged with any sense of guilt. Hell, I think I'd still like some day to raise kids in the kind of safe neighborhood in which I grew up. I want it all. I want to tread lightly on the environment, I want all the material goods that come from industrial development, I want the safety and sense of space that comes from living in a suburban neighborhood...

Ahhh...springtime!