Hope, and Springtime

Yes, I took a three-day weekend. Everyone needs one every now and again.

I spent this weekend in a very pleasing mix of urban and country environments, attending a children's party in the neighborhood, which reminded me how much I love my pedestrian lifestyle here, and then out at the house in Connecticut, where I walked the yard looking for signs of spring. I love finding them, year after year: the heads of crocuses (croci? probably not.) poking through patches of half-hearted snow, buds on branches, the return of some of the hardier birds.

This year, this spring, in particular, it felt important to have proof: to see tangible evidence of the passing of time, the changing of seasons, the renewal after the cold. As the dogs romped around me, barking at nothing and everything, I squished through the mud, breaking off a few dead canes on the rose bushes, assessing the blueberry and cherry trees, thinking about how--in a few more weeks--I will be able to clear my herb and vegetable gardens for yet another season of growth. 

It is everything to me, this growing of things I have undertaken in my adult life, and I am surprised, in a way, by the importance it has taken on. I didn't anticipate it, the need to get my hands dirty, to create something from nothing, to reap what I sow in such a literal way. I am still puzzling it out, in fact, and I will let you know when I know, or have more insight. For now, I just know that I need it, that it makes me feel purposeful and whole.

As I walked back to the house, after my slow circle, by the messy patch where the peonies will bloom come June, I noticed the persistent stubs of rhubarb pushing through the soil, a sign of spring for cooks and gardeners alike. I started thinking about rhubarb tarts and jam, a picnic table, steak on the grill, and snipping chives for scrambled eggs. I could almost feel my knees damp from the still wet leaves and dirt of the garden. How important it is to believe it will happen.