We have gone from winter to summer; spring got lost somewhere in between when the thermometer went up to 80 degrees Sunday, producing some sudden backyard picnics. It sent shoppers to the newest deli for some “non-cooking” meals, and a few sun-lovers even hurried to the beaches to sit and forget the long-winter blues.

I never cease to be amazed at the sudden spurt of greenery in gardens and lawns. David and Joy, Vermonters from the past 20 years, were admiring the green in our lawns when they made a fast trip down on Saturday. They still have bits of snow in places and Laurie has even more in her corner of Vermont. Within a week, great shoots of Hosta and bleeding heart bushes have pushed up more than eight inches high outside in the small garden area. Finches have shed their winter outfits and are bright yellow.

Mr Cardinal is feeding his mate when she comes to find seeds under the spruce tree. She is surely nesting and comes only for a very short time, several times a day. I was more than surprised Sunday when she sat down in the middle of the water dish and took a very thorough bath. I never saw her do that before.

This Friday is Arbor Day. When I noticed it listed on my desk calendar, I remembered the way this day was observed each year when I was in elementary school. It was more country than city when I was in the Morris Street School in Danbury. We had a very special ceremony and each year the school gathered outside while one of the older boys in the top grade planted a tree. There were several along the edge of the school yard but after the city crept up to that area, two or three additions to the school used up the playground and probably the carefully planted trees are long since gone. But the importance of planting and caring for trees remained with me until now.

So did the marches. Before the school bell rang to summon everyone inside to class, the strains of a lively march played on an old fashioned “Victrola” could be heard. As the doors opened and pupils filed steadily into the school and down the hall to their classrooms, Miss Walsh, the principal, was always at the doorway, welcoming everyone with a smile, as the notes of that day’s march played on. No pushing, no shooing, just an orderly procession and a rhythmic walk to start the school day.

There were probably six or eight different records that greeted us – one by one – and I remember where I learned them first: at Morris Street School.

Years later, my own children learned some of the same marches and other classical tunes, as they came over a television set each morning, when Captain Kangaroo gave millions of children their first lesson in music appreciation. Once, during a parade, a band was marching to one of those well known tunes, and one of my children said, “Oh! That’s Mr Kangaroo’s song!” For many years the same introduction to good music and lessons in good behavior and many “right” things in life have been sent to entertain and teach children by Mr Rogers.

We do have some good things to provide acceptable standards for children when they watch television. The unacceptable programs that have polluted the airways with nonsense and the wrong kinds of drama make a sad statement to parents who, if they are good parents, avoid allowing children to watch them. It has become necessary to weed out the bad from the good – a heavy responsibility for parents.

Now is the time to put away most of the winter clothing and blankets, the snow shovels, skates, sleds, and the galoshes, and get out the lawn chairs, the garden hose, the barbecue grill, and of course the lawn mower. We swap the big snow drifts and icy roads, the mittens and knitted hats and scarves, and the shut-in days for a few thunderstorms and rainy days; for games of horseshoes and outdoor badminton and croquet; and the never-ending lawn mowing. So long, winter.

They quote at the end of last week’s column was by Calvin Coolidge. Who said, “Never ask of money spent, where spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant to remember or invest what he did with every cent”?