I spread a blanket on thick, green lawn and sit down on the hill at City of Palms Park, then the spring training home of the Boston Red Sox in Fort Myers, Florida. Slathered in sunblock, my pale, pearly white legs stretch out on the grass before me. Once I’m settled, my bare feet will sink into the gentle tickle of the soft grass.

Ahhh …

Florida sun — that refreshing respite from winter  — drenches the day, field and sky in light and warmth. Unwilling to wait for spring’s arrival in Pennsylvania, I’ve flown south to greet it. To see the sculpted, muscled players in their crisp uniforms chasing the dream. To hear their spikes crunch into the packed, clay gravel of the diamond, the satisfying THWAP of a baseball hitting a player’s leather glove, a favorite sound of springtime.

I’ve come to recharge with sunshine, baseball and beaches.

Fantasy Baseball Trip

That first trip to baseball spring training to watch the Red Sox was about 16 years ago, and it’s fun to remember for its warmth and comfort. A reminder that summer is not that far away.

The real time is actually between 1:30 and 3 a.m., March, 2023, my second consecutive night lying awake in the wee hours. Spring has arrived on the calendar, and here in central Pennsylvania the robins and birdsong are plentiful. But it’s still rather chilly, damp and grey out.

Our big, red-brown dog woke me up to go outside. This has never happened over the last few hundred nights, but happened in the middle of this one. To be sure he’s securely on his leash, I’ve woken all the way up, talked him out of a walk through the neighborhood, returned to bed and now can’t fall back to sleep.

Lying wide awake, I’m remembering earlier trips to escape the doldrums of winter in northern states by visiting baseball spring training in Florida. That first trip to Fort Myers was with my college bestie, Karen. Another was with my mom. We were at the field when a tropical rain shower soaked the red-brown earth of the infield and baselines, the turf of the outfield. The next morning, we watched from the porch of the condo as the wind whipped and bent the palm trees in another powerful rain storm. When the sun returned, we drove out to explore a nature preserve on Sanibel Island and later visited the winter home and workshop of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford, which was fascinating. Pretty fun trip and escape from winter.

A Baseball Family

Baseball for me is all about connection to the family of fans I grew up with and the family of players and coaches I married into. Connection to  sweet, balmy summer nights and to a classic, timeless game. Connection to all the baseball-loving places I’ve lived and, as baseball is a distinctly American game, connection to my country.

The longer I live, the more I believe life is about connection, magic and following your heart.

Those trips were before I met my husband. The night we met, we talked about baseball. On one of our first dates, he quizzed me on scenes from a favorite baseball movie: “For Love of the Game,” one of a few classic baseball movies that get us through winter.

Ten years ago, I joined his baseball-playing family and soon — after three baseball seasons of watching my stepsons play — married in. Over three springs, my husband and I traveled with other family members to watch my younger stepson compete in college tournaments, playing for Juniata College, NCAA Division III. My younger stepson became a fierce, powerful slugger, an outstanding, accomplished, award-winning player.

Those trips to spring training for college ball were literally a combination of planes, trains and automobiles.

And a lot of fun — a splash-down smack into summertime.

In March 2020, my husband and I, his parents and his aunt and uncle took the Amtrak Auto Train, riding the rails through the night from Virginia to Florida. We watched a few blissful, warm days of baseball as our team played beautifully and our favorite player — my younger stepson — smashed home runs.

It seemed like the beginning of a magical season.

The next day, COVID-19 began to shut the world down. Pro games and seasons evaporated. Our team played one more game, then we packed up and drove through the night to get home. That memory, of course, is a sad one. We’ve not been back to spring training since. My younger stepson lost most of a season, played two more, and won several awards including conference “Player of the Year.”

Our Love of the Game

Nothing can change our love of this beautiful game of baseball, rich in ritual, tradition and connection. The soundscape is like a lullaby to me, a comforting blend of humming crowd, calm voices of radio announcers describing the moments  — until the crack of the bat breaks the spell and louder, excited voices call out the action.

I’m old-school about the game, too. I love the timeless, classic nature of it. The fluidity, the poetry-in-motion, the perfectly turned double-play. Decades of work, countless hours of practice and game time to make it look that easy, that smooth.

I’m a romantic, who loves hand-crafted anything and enjoyed learning that Major League Baseballs are still hand-stitched.

Apparently, no one has yet invented a machine up to the task of making a proper baseball for professional games. The precision is paramount since a bit of weight difference can affect how the ball travels, and thus the game.

A New Season

A new season will soon begin with a few new rules to quicken the pace of the game, so it can keep up with modern times and stop the erosion of its popularity. Pitchers face a pitch clock, a ban on shifting infielders a whole position over to field left-handed batters, and limits on throw to pickoff a runner before he steals a base.

We’ll see.

I’m not sure who won that Red Sox spring training game all those years ago. That one I revisited to help lull myself back to sleep. I know I loved being there, watching players throw a baseball around the infield below a clear, bright powder-blue sky, soaking up all that sunshine. Just remembering it warmed a still, chilly early spring night.

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