April 30, 2025
Just in the past few days, I finally saw that one
unmistakeable sign of spring: the faint and shimmering aura of green that
envelops the deciduous trees. Not actual leaves, not quite yet, but buds. Buds
are on most of the trees hereabouts, except of course for the walnut trees.
In our area, those hardwoods are the last to bud and
the first to drop their leaves, often before autumn arrives on the calendar.
They’re a no-nonsense kind of tree. Their purpose is to grow walnuts, and as
soon as that task is done, well, there’s no more need for the leaves, is there?
I’ve already been blessed with the first daffodils of
the season—right under my side bedroom window. The earth there is not the best,
but it is deep enough for the bulbs, and they have taken. There will be a tulip
or two in the next day or so there as well. Because the area hasn’t been well
tended, this year our daughter plans to make it into a real garden. She’ll ring
it with some rocks and then remove the sod as well as take the time to see if
my roses can be rescued.
As for our front gardens, the lilies-of-the-valley
spears are up. I never have to wonder if they’ll bloom as they are quite
dedicated to make their annual appearance. The other bulbs I have planted there—narcissi
(of which daffodils are but one variety), hyacinths and tulips—are all in solid
growth mode. The gardens that border our walkway have as their outer border a
row of bricks. The choice is currently being considered whether to thin the bulbs
or move the bricks outward to encompass the new growth.
I’m leaving that decision up to my daughter, as she
will have to do the work of it either way.
Spring truly is my favorite season of the year. It’s
the fresh awakening of nature following the months of hibernation. There are
days that are blessedly warm and sunny, days when you want to breathe deeply of
all that freshness over and over again. There is always the hope, however
fanciful that the air of spring will rejuvenate the body as it surely does the spirit.
Spring, however, is not always a sure thing. One can’t
count on its nature, from year to year. There have been years when we’ve only
had a week of what I consider spring weather before we find ourselves in the
swelter of summer. And some years, the spring bears more wet and cold than sun
and warmth.
The last couple of years especially, I’ve felt that
the springtime has more closely resembled those I recall from my childhood. A
gradual warming, with days of clean air, and nights that find one reaching for
a blanket in the evening.
This spring seems to be following that trend.
Yesterday, while reclining and reading, I noticed the room was quite warm. Not
warm enough to turn on our a/c, but certainly warm enough to turn off the
furnace. And so I did.
Now, I did consult with my beloved as I headed to bed
around midnight, as to whether or not I should turn the furnace back on. It
would operate according to its schedule and shut off again about 1:30. Then it
would come on again about five a.m.
He thought there was no need, and I agreed. Clearly
that decision wasn’t well thought out. When
I awoke at seven a.m., it was to shivers and a need to check that thermostat.
Now, here’s where I am reminded that much in life truly is subjective.
Fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit would seem balmy after
a week of minus thirty temperatures. If we stepped out our door on that day,
why, we’d eschew the use of a jacket! However, fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit is
simply too cold after a toasty night under our duvet. Turning the furnace back
on only requires a couple seconds to work the thermostat’s keypad.
Friends, it was done before that first sip of my
morning coffee.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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