Caffeinated Politics

There’s a particular kind of joy that arrives the moment winter finally loosens its grip. That is what happened this weekend in places around Wisconsin. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s quiet, like the soft sound of a book page turning. Sitting for the first time this year at the table and chairs on our coffin porch with mugs of hot coffee, I thought about a quote I had placed for the longest time on my Facebook page.

“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” Words of truth from Cicero.

For me, the turning of winter to spring, even though we are doubtless going to have more snow and cold, as, after all, this is Wisconsin and boys’ state basketball championship weekend is reputed to be stormy, occurs with a book and the warm sun beating off our home. Days ago, we brought up from the basement the table and chairs and deemed it official. At least in our minds.

For me, reading outside is one of the purest expressions of that revival after the winter cold and snow. And it is the daily habit once winter has been banished, that is continuously restorative to my soul. I am not sure, but someone has certainly researched whether natural light makes words feel more alive on the printed page. For me, this weekend, it was as if the sentences were stretching after a long hibernation.

The man from whom we inherited our home often remarked that from about early November until late March, it was darn near impossible to have conversations with neighbors, as everyone seemed to hibernate. Unless there was snow shoveling to be done, the shared minglings with neighbors stopped until warmer weather again enveloped the community. We do not feel that way, as dinner guests over the winter months enliven our home. But there was a marked difference due to the weather this weekend as people were out in droves.

One woman remarked to me that everyone outside reminded her of people emerging like hopeful seedlings. There were young men in nothing but running shorts and shoes making their way along Lake Monona. A curious young boy was peppering his dad about why this and why that as they walked by with their dog. A teacher in our neighborhood told me her young students will find it hard to focus come Monday as the forecast calls for nearly 60-degree temperatures. As I sat outside with James alongside me, I noticed that both of us had our attention pulled between the printed lines and the sky.

I was not in the Northwoods of Wisconsin or at a state park, and yet the connection to Mother Nature was very much present at our Madison isthmus property. John Muir once wrote, “In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.” The same is true of reading outdoors. You open a book expecting a story (today, my book of choice was by Nelson DeMille), but you end up receiving a whole atmosphere. Sun on your shoulders, the welcoming conversations from friends, the clink of a mug on a metal table, and the softest of breezes flipping pages for you like an eager companion wanting to know what is next for the hero of the story. Read faster!

Those who examine who we are as humans might tell me that the revival mood I am in today is an ancient reaction about our resilience, during the colder and harsher elements of life, and the inner yearning for connection with others.

So here’s to the first warm weekend of 2026. To the return of sunlight and sidewalk chatter. To coffee cups on outside tables. To books opened under clear blue skies such as today. And to the simple joy of being outside again with the one you love, together, turning pages in the sun.