Did you know...

that Spring is coming?

Last week I heard Robins and yesterday I saw finches. They're scouring the patches of grass, searching for bits of seed or bugs. Grandma sent money for a bird feeder-- I'm sure they would appreciate the meal and show off their flashy yellow coats for me in a few weeks if I set one outside.
It's as if a collective will has ripped back the covers off winter. She lies there, cold air still seeping over the edge of the bed, her comfortable sleep starting to seep through the mattress and boxspring. You can't go near her without soaking your shoes through.
Mom said, "It's like living in a mud puddle!"
Better than living in a block of ice, right Mom?

I grow increasingly happy with the end of this winter. I can find shivering charming, but only for a week or so. In the country we hibernate for some of the winter('cept for Dad), but it's a lost cause here. The city is all about moving, doing, deadlines, advancing, and freaking out when it snows more than three inches. The hibernation period makes winter bearable. The slowing of pace, and release from obligations, either makes winter move more quickly or seem more meaningful.

I grew up living season to season. I can measure my life in four o'clocks and zinnias; hot, dusty winds; frosted and rattling window panes; the first unnoticed red ferns that push through the moss, curled tightly to the still cold mornings. Each change is an opportunity, but spring is my favorite.
Unmeasured potential, always surprising but reassuring in her consistency. Dependable.
Spring brings clarity and new ideas. She rips the bandage off the unhealed cut from last fall and gives it air and light.

With all the help that Spring will be throwing my way...
I can't possibly fail, right?

While I can hardly contain my excitement over this spring, I am very hesitant for her actual arrival. There's too much to do before she gets here, and some of it seems beyond my reach. My farmer's spring is here by late March. I should have done so many things a month ago. Will it be possible to plant on time? Will this lot have the soil structure to support a garden? Is it too rootbound by the trees that run through it? Is there an evil creature lurking underneath the rotting matresses in the back? Will people want to help? Will people want to garden? Will it be safe?

Somehow, it always works out at home.
I hope it does here, too.



Watch for the finches.

-Laura