March 3, 2021
Winter is nearly over. But as I
look out my office window (as best I can around my large computer screen) the
sun is shining, and I see flashes of a deeper blue than I could see just a
month ago. But as much as I relish the sunshine and slightly deeper hue of azure
in the sky between the clouds, I remind myself that while March is the first
month of spring, it is also the last month of winter. And winter, while being nearly
over, can still bring us to our knees in March. And sometimes we’re gifted with
an unanticipated and unappreciated encore performance in April or even early
May.
I remind myself there’s a
reason my mother never planted her veggie or flower gardens until after the 24th
of May. That was the date she calculated when “all danger of frost was past”.
When it came to gardening, my mother really did know best.
Despite all the technology we
embrace in this day and age, and regardless of all the amazing modern amenities
at our disposal, we humans are still inexorably tied to the natural world, aren’t
we? Like the animals, we hunker down during the winter months, and tend to
react viscerally to the pending arrival of spring.
Usually, once March arrives
and gives us a sunny day or two, our sap begins to flow and our buds shiver in
eagerness to emerge from our long winter’s dormancy. And it’s the same for the
trees and the flowers, too.
One thing with getting older
that I’ve found to be true is that it’s difficult to compare current circumstances
with times in years past. Is this the worst winter we’ve ever had? Well, I don’t
think I can say that it is, exactly. It was a solid winter, with a lot of very
cold days, and snow that stayed around for weeks on end. But I can’t tell you
more than that. I don’t tend to keep the years straight in my mind. Once it’s
done, it’s gone, and that’s that. Unless, of course, there is something exceptional
that happened in a year. Then I might remember it.
I can tell you this
winter we’re still in was worst than last year’s, in that this winter we had a
couple of days when the furnace couldn’t quite keep up with the cold. It was
only for a few hours each time, but to me it was a sign that the cold this year
was deeper and more biting. Canada did set some new record cold days, so science
apparently agrees with me.
Either that or my furnace
needs servicing. That could be, too, and I’ll get it done before we have to
turn the air conditioner on. I had planned to get the servicing done in
January, but then we were in a midst of a stay-at-home order. Had there been an
emergency, I would have contacted the company and had one of their repair
persons in.
Spring is my favorite season, and
in my mind, I have always considered it to be the season of renewal, but more, a
season of hope. Makes sense in a way, because by the end of February a person
can feel a little hope-depleted. Nothing replenishes that sweet resource more
than the sight of flower shoots breaking ground, or the verdant green aura that
envelops trees just as their buds appear. There’s a morning so pure, so blue-skied
and bursting with fresh air, you can almost get intoxicated standing on your
porch and breathing in deeply. On such a day, it can feel as if the
possibilities are endless
I imagine that in the next
week or so, we’ll begin to turn our minds to what we’ll need for this year’s
veggie gardens, and whether or not we’ll go to the nursery to get some flowers
to plant. Last year we learned a lot, so this year, hopefully, we’ll be happier
with our results. But there is joy and purpose just in the doing, completely
independent of whether you get good results or not.
I think that is true for a lot
of activities in life. Or at least it should be. I look forward to getting my
hands in the dirt, to cupping the fragile roots of young plants, and setting
them firmly to grow. I look forward to appreciating the sense of life a
garden engenders.
Because this winter has been a
bit colder, David was more attentive in ensuring the critter feeders, front
yard and back, were filled. He got bird seed for the birds, and sunflower seeds
and peanuts in the shell for the squirrels and chipmunks. So when we settle in
to figure out our gardening supplies, I’m going to suggest he jerry rig one
additional item for each garden table.
I think we might need some chicken
wire “hats” for the tables to wear—hats that will let the sun and rain in, and hopefully
keep the critters out.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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