“Between the Isolation and the Flowers”

We recently reached the landmark of the first “official” day of spring–though the weather might not quite have gotten the message yet–so I thought it would be the perfect time to talk about the first entry in perhaps my favorite ever picture book series: When Spring Comes.

The series–which so far has covered the seasons of spring, fall, and winter, respectively (Summer Song is due out in April, and you’d better believe I’m ready for it!)–is authored by Kevin Henkes, of Lily’s Purple Plastic Purse fame, and illustrated by Laura Dronzek.

I was initially introduced to this duo’s work when I started at the Bookstore in 2015, and by some miracle came upon a board book copy of their 2009 title Birds that was still in stock. As an “intimate of birds” (Emily Dickinson’s term), I was naturally drawn to it–and I fell in love with its chunky paintings and shrewd verse. (Don’t worry–we’ll visit Birds in much greater length at a later date. That’s a promise. Or maybe a threat.)

Needless to say, when When Spring Comes arrived on our shelves in 2016, I was thrilled to see a new project from this picture book power-couple–who are, as I have recently discovered, also a couple in real life–and it did not disappoint!

As you can expect from any of the Henkes/Dronzek seasonal romps, When Spring Comes greets you with beautiful themed endpapers–inside the front cover, kites and tulips and robins and bubbles dance upon a field of soft blue.

Unlike many picture books, however, the endpapers at the back cover are distinct from the front, and there we are greeted by a sunshiny yellow background, and summery objects like sunflowers, popsicles, and fireworks.

Each title that has been released is the same in this manner, so that you could almost lay them all out in an endless loop of season into season into season. And this unique feature is more than simply aesthetic–as if to hint at the impossibility of confining the seasons within strict temporal boundaries, the “narrative” of each book also bleeds out of and into the next.

It’s just this sort of incredible attention to detail that makes these books such unique treasures. In the interior, as well, every page has been expertly considered and crafted to convey a sense of the deepest wonder for even (perhaps, especially) the tiniest details of each season.

Henkes’ verse–for truly it is more poem than narrative–has the keen eye of a child, and Dronzek’s illumination–for her paintings imbue the text with a certain light–is both simple enough to appeal to the very young, and lush enough to convey the subtleties of a moment in time.

Opening in late winter, when the trees are still just “black sticks against the sky,” When Spring Comes jumps right into full-blossom, with a striking image of trees in flower on the following page.

Still, it doesn’t waste the chance to humorously comment on how spring both takes its excruciatingly sweet time getting to us, and sometimes (or a lot of times) “changes its mind” about staying.

The concept of patience plays a significant role in this title (as it does in Spring for Sophie, another book about spring that I’ll visit soon)–and this seems appropriate, given the aforementioned flightiness of the spring season in particular.

Many of the joys of spring, too, are perhaps less accessible to children than adults. The larger concerns of the season–like inclement weather, which keeps kids sequestered inside yet longer after an already interminable winter–tend to outweigh the more cerebral aspects of “rebirth” and “fresh starts.”

As a child, I remember that I did not particularly care for spring. It was certainly my least favorite time of the year, compared to the rest. My reasoning was straightforward, as children tend to be–the black, receding snow drifts revealed bare, muddy, unwelcoming ground; there wasn’t much to speak of in the way of flowers or leaves to replace the snow that had blanketed the earth; and the weather was still temperamental enough that playing outside was not guaranteed from day to day.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the quiet joys of spring; I’m able to rejoice in the very beginnings of leaves that I know will take weeks or even months to become black raspberries and wild strawberries. But such perspective takes time (and age) to cultivate.

There is, as well, an uneasiness that underlies this time of year and the many transitions it sets in motion. To witness the emergence of birdsong and buds is to realize, at the same time, just how profound their absence has been in the preceding months–and in the beauty of their delicateness is an equal sense of vulnerability. With its frequent changes of heart, spring is nothing if not uncertain–and children, I believe, are especially quick to perceive uncertainty.

With all this in mind, Henkes and Dronzek seem to work to set up the big pay-offs of spring in a way that redeems it to children, while at the same time reassuring them. For all the rain, there are big, beautiful umbrellas and rain boots with which to splash in puddles.

In the loss of some of winter’s pleasures, there are also things to look forward to–for the slooowly melting snowmen, there are eggs becoming birds, and kittens and mice in the fields. And for flowers and veggies that seem like they’ll never sprout, there are soft bunnies waiting to nibble their shoots.

Even on the days that look a bit tempestuous–Henkes aptly promises that spring will bring wind–we can see children enjoying themselves, flying kites or riding bikes together.

In a final nod to all of the patience that welcoming spring requires, the book concludes by reminding us that even when it seems spring is “finally here to stay,” we must now continue waiting for summer. The juxtaposition here of a springy scene with the aforementioned summery endpapers captures visually the liminality we experience as the seasons gradually shift.

In this 2011 article about Henkes and Dronzek, their friend and fellow author Jane Hamilton comments that the pair have “a deeply shared aesthetic”–and that connection resonates throughout this series.

Henkes, who reports that the words of a book “come first” in his creative process, is described by Ginny Moore Kruse as possessing “an extraordinary capacity for observation of human nature and the natural world.” Based on this and other entries of the seasonal series, there can be no doubt of that assessment. And clearly, the self-identified freedom of Dronzek’s painting method is a spontaneous, perfect counterpoint to Henkes’ careful structure.

When Spring Comes is clearly the product of a harmonious partnership–born of the “kind of quiet” that Hamilton observes one could expect to find on Henkes’ and Dronzek’s peaceful, dead-end street in Madison, Wisconsin. And in this time of unprecedented (yet somehow familiar) stillness and turbulence–as we all struggle to make sense of a surprising new landscape–it’s a fitting title to carry us on our way.

Title taken from “The Late Wisconsin Spring,” 2002 ⓒ John Koethe
Cover image from “When Spring Comes,” 2016 ⓒ HarperCollins, Kevin Henkes, Laura Dronzek