Spring is about possibilities. I was walking Buster around the neighbourhood on this truly magnificent spring day, spying the crocuses blooming, the tulip leaves just showing their tips, even the beginning blooms of the forsythia bushes and I almost wanted to break out into a run. Almost. I hate running so I restrained myself, but nevertheless the feeling was there. The phrase “spring in my step” sprang to mind, not to overuse the pun or anything. I saw somebody washing their car and wanted to rush back home and do the same. I imagined the sparkle of the clean paint and windows. I even told the guy that he was an inspiration. He smiled and I think he thought I was a little nuts, but whatever. This weather inspires a kind of energy that we’ve been missing for months. When I got home I washed three sets of curtains, hung them to dry, ironed them, organized two enormous kitchen drawers that have been driving me nuts, put a few things in their places which have been loitering on counters all winter, and vowed to wash some windows tomorrow. The spring sunshine seems to demand that these things be done, because if your windows are dirty it can’t fill your house in the glorious way it wants to.
What’s so touching about spring is that no matter how horrible the world news is, no matter how sad you are for the all the displaced people, no matter how depressed you might be, the weather still changes, the tulips come up, the cherry blossoms come out and the forsythia blooms. It’s Nature’s consolation prize. Yeah, there’s still Covid, yes, Russia is still bombing the crap out of Ukraine, but at least the cycle of life continues, unabashed, unconcerned, saying, “here we are again!” and somehow there’s hope.
I did my first ‘walkabout’ in my garden today and once again, as every year, I thrilled to see what was coming up, especially the new tulips I planted in the fall. I put my Green Lady out under the lilac bush, probably the earliest she’s made it out there in the history of my garden. I hope she’ll be spared a last snowstorm or two, but if not, she’ll survive. She’s a trooper, and I love seeing her out there. I noted all the little (and bigger) spring jobs the garden requires, including picking up a ton of shit (a shit ton?) that Buster deposited there over the winter. I’ll wait a bit before I tackle them since the ground is still soggy and I don’t want to damage the grass, not that it’s in any kind of great shape, being mostly weeds. I must fill the bird feeder and turn over the rain barrel, connect the hoses, check for winter damage, clear out leaves that I neglected to clear in the fall, turn over the compost , prune the roses and so much more. Luckily, spring makes me excited to get these jobs done, instead of filling me with dread, as chores mostly do, plus this is my first spring as a retired person with time to get it all done.
There’s a sense of urgency behind this, too, because we all know spring only lasts a split second, and suddenly it’ll be too hot to spend much time in the garden except to walk around, admire everything and lazily make notes for chores to do on a cool day. Now is when I most sorely wish I could slow time down, and extend these precious, hopeful , expectant days just a little longer.
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