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The teachers at her school must wonder why the little girl always seems to have a dirty right forefinger.

“Don’t her parents bathe her?” they must ask themselves. Of course her parents bathe her — every night. But you must understand that drawing pictures in the soft Florida sand every morning is a temptation few Florida children can pass up. No one should pass it up.

There is simply nothing better than running one’s fingers through the soil that is Florida’s most overlooked signature.

Drawing Daddy’s face, Maya’s face, Mommy’s face, her friend Madison’s face, even Bear’s face, is among life simplest and best pleasures. It just feels so good.

Feeling good is easy these days. Ol’ Don Blanding called these days, “Floridays,” and he knew what he was talkin’ about.

Bright, clear skies with a hue that defies description are the order of the day. Gentle sea breezes building up in the afternoon provide God’s own air conditioning.

Sure, you say, it’s spring everywhere but nowhere is spring sweeter than in our little corner of paradise.

The heavenly perfume of orange blossoms cover the night with a sweet blanket. Bougainvillea sprinkle the landscape with extraordinary color, to be followed soon by Poinciana, gardenia, jasmine and the rest. The mango trees are in full bloom and while the blossoms are not particularly colorful or fragrant they will give way by summer to the fruit itself and that means homemade mango ice cream, mango bread and just plain mango slices.

The days are getting longer, the sunsets brighter and the Gulf of Mexico will soon warm up to swimming temperatures after spending the winter in the 60s and 70s.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking — some of you. “What do you mean? I’ve been swimming all winter.” Well, that may be but most Floridians don’t even think about jumping in the water until it reaches 80 degrees. Only fools and Yankees go swimming in the winter, my grandfather used to say.

Another sure sign of spring is the return of the Whippoorwill, its sweet song reaching out through the pine forest and surfing gently over and under tree branches in the early morning dark. The Whippoorwill is a great springtime friend to have and brings a touch of romance to the night but having one right outside one’s window can get rather tiresome. Like the skunk, it’s best to experience the Whippoorwill from a distance. The bird doesn’t stay long here, however. We are but a rest stop in its annual migration from Mexico to the pine forests of the Eastern Seaboard and Canada. But while it’s here, it’s welcome.

It will be replaced in the summer by the more common Chuck-wills-widow, a cousin whose song is almost identical to the Whippoorwill’s. Both birds are part of a family of night creatures sometimes referred to as “nightjars” because some folks consider them to be a nuisance. You can hate them or love them but for my money they make Florida spring even sweeter.

Steve Hart is a sailor, angler, explorer, raconteur, amateur citrus-grower and semi-professional theologian who masqueraded as a Florida journalist and pundit for the last 25 years. A fifth-generation Floridian, Hart comes from solid cracker stock but revels in the changing face of 21st century Florida and its patchwork quilt of people, their cultures, traditions, shades and ideas. His book, “Tales from Down Yonder, Florida,” is available in local bookstores and on the Web at www.downyonderflorida.com.