Time sails when you're having fun.

Byline: Bob Welch The Register-Guard

I climb up the trailer and into the sailboat, which is coated in a thin layer of what I call "storage dust."

It's spring, time for inventory. Time to figure out what needs to be fixed, ordered or replaced since last fall, when I stored the boat for the winter and was too lazy to fix, order or replace anything. Time to get ready for summer.

I know, I know. The serious sailors did this in January, like sea captains of long ago, huddled over their computers on the westmarine.com site, click-dragging cleats and turnbuckles and suction-mounted drink holders to their shopping baskets. But I'm slow to let go of winter and get into spring; I still head off on noontime runs wearing one layer too many, not really believing that it could actually be warm. Besides, calling me a "serious sailor" would be like calling The Archies "serious musicians."

Frankly, I wasn't looking forward to the task. When you're away from a hobby, you forget how much you love it. And then you smell the good smell of a boat, life preservers, rubber fenders, and the memories come back and suddenly you can't wait to get on the water.

Anticipation. That's what this time of year is all about. Looking forward to better stuff to come.

Graduations. Blackberries. Mossless lawns. For the first time since last spring, people are thinking: Hey, it's possible. I could graduate. Make jam. Mow grass instead of fuzz.

You're digging around in your back shed and see something that looks familiar. Of course: the barbecue grill. For now, the weather is too cranky to totally throw ourselves into summer mode, but too good to not at least test it out. Fire up that puppy!

Anticipation. University of Oregon students, if not counting the days, are counting their credits; those taking 21 credits spring term are usually nonmath majors who planned on 15 until double-checking their total.

Gardeners are sowing, with thoughts of summer reaping. On my running route, green plants the size of your fist have sprouted. I haven't a clue what they are, but that's the tease of spring: not knowing what summer will bring but imagining that it could be something good.

Anticipation. The Eugene Emeralds, at this point, are unbeaten. Who knows how they'll do when the season actually begins, and who cares? Just so long as there are hot dogs and the digital thermometer in right field telling us it's 77 degrees at 9 p.m. Just so Hendricks Hill is tinted pink at sunset and they still sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the seventh-inning stretch. That's all that matters, though we'd take a pennant, too.

It's spring. Travelers are booking trips, reserving campsites, doing the math that tells them, at $3.15 a gallon, they can afford to take the family from here to, oh, Burns.

Anticipation. Weekend festivals, folks walking around in Saturday morning shade looking at art or quilts or antiques or books or the largest strawberry shortcake in the world or, come Country Fair time, psychedelic people reincarnated from the '60s who've arrived in Veneta using frequent-flier miles from their considerable journeys of the soul.

And, of course, boats on the water. Which reminds me: In this season of anticipation, we need more rain. Since January, we've had 13.43 inches, barely half of the normal 22.52. Earlier this month, the snow pack was barely two-thirds of normal.

Fern Ridge is nearly two feet lower than full-pool level; we need more water so keels won't be dragging come August. But I'll take that rain at night; no need to further foul up baseball schedules or the UO spring football game Saturday or Sunday's marathon, the first in Eugene in 25 years.

You might have heard that Alabama drew 92,138 people to its spring game last Saturday, believed to be the largest turnout for a scrimmage ever.

Me? I'll take 10,000 fans at Autzen, each carrying three nonperishable food items. And, of course, a long-anticipated Oregon summer.