Carol Gano - Spring

"What's that step?" the Macedonian grandmother halted the dance.  Eyes pivoted, but gently. They all hoped to be dancing at her age. She didn't know this one. They didn't either, it was only 20 years old, created when the Soviet Union dissolved. The old dances were cherished; the old ones were like dear friends, but the new ones..... The young ones like this were charged with optimism, full of directional changes, hesitations.  

Anastasia smiled, "Of course we can do it without the music. Ready? Weight on the left foot, right foot leads a grapevine of five steps to the left, sway left to right, then wrap the right ankle around left foot and hold a second, then a small kick of the right foot and shift your weight.  Here comes the new step, with both feet together, bunny hop once in place, weight on both feet and you're back to the start of the dance." Confident Anastasia, it sounded so easy.

"Can we do it once without the music first?"

Maribel retorted. "It's that little jump that I forget to do and then I'm on the wrong foot, weight on the alternate foot and I can't start the dance."

"Of course, let's do it three times, then I'll put on the music. Anastasia felt pride in supporting Maribel when she struggled.  So were all the others. Anastasia saw out of the corner of her eyes everyone else was juggling their feet just where Maribel was unsteady. Maribel was not embarrassed, she just needed that repetition to act as reinforcement.

Suddenly, they all stopped, burst into giggling uncontrollably.  Nervously? No, they lived all their lives in this village. They knew each other well.

This new dance was brought into their mountain valley by Anastasia, who travelled. She attended dancers' training in Budapest in the summers.  It wasn't summer now, the leaves were changing colours. The women were overworked, putting aside the last foods of autumn to be available when all else had been consumed. These will be the vegetables of winter. Such traditions kept generations alive.  It was what made great the reputation of their valley. It was their recipes and variations that brought joy and lightness into otherwise bland repetitive meals well before the early tender vegetables ripened in the longer days. All it took was one chilli or a few pieces of carrots per glass jar. Summer's harvests were recalled and Spring anticipated.

The music jolted everyone out of their musings.

"One, two, three, four, we'll pick it up at three, two, one, low hand hold, this helps all dancers moved together."

Off they went! They got it this time. Such a feeling: floating, flying, hopping, jumping and they maintained simultaneous movement. They danced the song out perfectly.

Puffed, they looked all around at each other, eyes brightened by success.

She'd done it again. Maribel, such a matriarch!

"That step is a Spring movement", Maribel said out loud what all the women felt. It epitomized the renewal of the growing season.

Maribel led the dance as they did it one last time to the setting winter sun. In expectation of their next Spring, they wandered home, more tired than they arrived, but content.