I never knew what spring truly was till I lived in Bulgaria.
That year we had suffered under the burden of a winter without end for six months. It had been grey on grey on grey that whole time. By February there were small inklings that spring might be on its way. One day I even went out without my long underwear and a sheer skirt on. I was promptly chastised by a Baba who said I would catch my death of cold, among other things. I couldn't resist that day, but it was only a tease. The next day it snowed with a vengeance, as if to say, "Never again with there be spring in Narnia".
The winter persisted and on Easter it snowed. It snowed with colorful eggs and Easter bunnies and daisy chains in our hair, it snowed, almost killing the newness of life that had begun to bloom.
Then it became May.
May, glorious, warm, wonderful, colorful May. It was warm and green. It seemed like every day something new bloomed. Blooming things were totally foreign to me, as I had only known HOT and not-so-HOT in the Desert Southwest. Every day new colors appeared on trees and bushes all over Sofia. We spent many hours outside, walking, jumping fences, laughing, breathing in exotic scents of Bulgarian flora. My favorite quickly became "lipa" or linden flowers. On a daily basis we would see babichki picking the blooms to dry for tea.
In the evenings, those same babichki and their dyados started to emerge from their bloks to sit on park benches. Young people also emerged. Babies born in the deep mid-winter were seen for the first time with their parents. Older brothers and sisters ran thru streets kicking soccer balls. Boys and girls held hands and snuck kisses in the fading days. It was a magical time to be in Bulgaria, to see to the rebirth of spring after the long, cold winter, to feel the sun on my skin, to feel alive again.
That was my first spring, that wonderful spring in Bulgaria.
