Not only do I like the way that sounds, I’m a fan of the notion. Officially and astronomically, spring begins on March 19, but as of this writing (March 17) it has already sprung.

In my mind it sprang (had to check, but yes, it’s a word) a few days ago, when I joined hundreds of men, women, children and dogs for the annual Jeffersonville St. Patrick’s Day Parade, hosted by the Ancient Order of Hibernians Sullivan Brothers.

Over the years, I have stated ad nauseam that I really, really love a good parade. By the way, lest anyone accuse me of using highfalutin’ words to sound smart, it’s not a compliment. “Ad nauseam” literally means “referring to something that has been done or repeated so often that it has become annoying.” You know, like me. And I’m not all that smart.

That said, I look forward each year to the many cavalcades that snake their way down scores of Main Streets scattered throughout the Upper Delaware River region, and it takes very little for us to throw a parade. After all, we celebrate all things tractors and trout in these parts—and if I’m not mistaken, there’s even a marching band saluting the all-important honeybee in Narrowsburg every year, so,yeah—I love a parade. 

St. Patrick’s Day holds special meaning for me—I’m not even a teensy bit Irish—but it’s the harbinger of spring, and spring in the Catskills is definitely something to celebrate. Many of the seasonal rituals have begun here at Camp Fox. Spotting the daffodils/crocuses/narcissus (narcissi?) springing from the ground is exhilarating, and observing That Dog Named Gidget sniffing her first has special meaning, which is (sigh) bittersweet.

I’m not going all-in yet, and in fact none of us should, because a) we could easily see more snow (it ain’t over till it’s over) and b) conventional wisdom suggests that “if you want to remove dead leaves from your garden or yard, wait until temperatures are consistently in the 50s to give insects in your garden a chance to wake up and emerge for the spring.” (www.dupageforest.org)  Honestly, it’s the least we can do (IMHO) to support the ecology. We need bugs. That’s probably why I’m still around.

Where was I? Oh, right—the parade. Sadly, I can’t attend them all, much less photograph each one—but I do my best to do my best, and post as many pics as I’m able to on our social media pages (think Facebook and Instagram). Word on the street is that the River Reporter now has its own YouTube channel, so I should probably look into that. 

Meanwhile, I’ll put a few photos in this edition, for those (like me) who still enjoy holding the paper in hand, and for others who eschew the almighty internet. Check ‘em out here and there, where one can, like, tag and share. 

Did I just use the word “eschew”? I did, cuz I’m highfalutin’.

Ask the Google: What is a Hibernian? 

A: Merriam-Webster defines a Hibernian as “(noun) of, relating to, or characteristic of Ireland or the Irish. First known use: 1632. Hibernia as a national personification representing Ireland appeared in numerous illustrations and drawings, especially in the nineteenth century.”