Our sister Evy was especially happy in the spring of 1952. Even though she was only four—and wouldn’t turn five until October—she would be allowed to start school in the fall. That alone filled her with excitement. Add to that her new Easter dress and the welcome arrival of “shirt-sleeve weather,” and life felt full of promise. After a long winter of 30 to 40 below zero, the temperature had climbed all the way up to zero, and to us, that felt almost warm.
As spring slowly began to take hold, Evy was ready with her boots for breakup season. The ice and snow were beginning to melt. All winter long, the Chena River and nearby Tanana River had been locked under thick, unmoving ice. By late April or early May, however, longer daylight and warming temperatures weakened that ice from above and below. What looked solid one day could suddenly become unstable the next. Everyone watched closely, especially because of the annual contest—guessing when the tripod placed on the river ice would finally fall as the ice broke apart. Tickets were sold, and the winner received a cash prize. It was a big event and gave everyone something to anticipate.
In the midst of the lingering cold, we still made time for simple pleasures. Picnics at Harding Lake were a treat, even if they were chilly. We didn’t think much about the cold—we were young, after all. Our dad, chief of the Weather Bureau, had the important job of forecasting the weather for the picnic. One year, it rained before the picnic, stopped just in time for us to enjoy it, and then started again afterward. To us, that felt like perfect timing.
When we weren’t at school, my cousins and I spent our afternoons exploring. We would trudge over to the latest gravel pit, wading in shallow water or balancing on pieces of floating wood. One day, we discovered a small lean-to made of branches hidden in the woods behind their house. It felt like a secret world of our own. We even gathered buds from a budding plant to make tea, certain we were creating something special.
All of these small signs—melting snow, running water, longer days—told us the same thing: spring was truly on its way. And with it came Easter.
We dressed in our best clothes and attended both Palm Sunday and Easter services. The music filled the church and our hearts. We sang:
Low in the grave He lay,
Jesus, my Savior…
…and then joyfully:
Up from the grave He arose… Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Another favorite echoed that same message of hope:
Hear the bells ringing,
They’re singing that you can be born again…
And in the end, that was what spring meant to us.
After months of darkness, cold, and waiting, everything came back to life—the rivers, the land, and even our spirits. Just as the ice broke and the waters began to flow again, Easter reminded us of new life and fresh beginnings. For a little girl like Evy, starting school, and for all of us emerging from a long Alaskan winter, it was a season of joy, hope, and the promise that something new was always just ahead.
