Today dawned with some filtered sunshine almost a full hour earlier than those darkest days of winter. This week, we will have four days in the 40s. In the long-range forecast, we begin that period of vacillation. Up into the 40s and near 50 one day, down into the mid-20s the next. What is inescapable? Well, spring just took it’s first breath.
The first breath of spring is a ritual in the northeast. It harkens a different kind of renewal that is truly unique and one of the reasons why I still have a tiny love for winter. If I didn’t have winter, I couldn’t experience spring’s first breath. With spring’s first breath, that period of renewal begins and there’s so much to look forward to. The melting of the snow, the first sighting of robins, the buds on the trees, the sound of the peeps on that first warm-ish evening. Backyard fires, garden rows tilled, sheets on the clothesline and deck furniture cleaned and placed for a summer of fun. The first breath of spring reminds me so acutely about what is to come.
This week, we will lose a considerable amount of snow cover. The beginnings are already here with each tree seemingly burrowing holes into the snow. As the sap starts to run freely, the tree warms up and melts more and more snow around it, creating pools of green grass around each tree. The high points of the yard where the winter winds blow the snow nearly bare start to peak through with grass. Even the mounds of snow begin to slowly recede, turning from a frosty white to a rather dirty, ugly brown.
Inside this little family prepares for spring with our own rituals. The seed order went in yesterday, albeit a little late. The grow operation gets readied for the start of tomatoes and onions, the first plants outside of garlic (which went into the ground in October) to go into the ground. Having gained just one minute shy of two hours of daylight, the way we live changes slightly, too. The curtains are open longer, the lights are on less frequently and we begin to enjoy the true beauty of life – natural light. It lifts the soul and gently affirms that, yes, I did survive another winter.
Now, as I said, the first breath of spring doesn’t fully usher in the season. Winter always puts up a fight. But the push and pull is okay, too. There is nothing like seeing the first buds on the trees or the slow march of green that comes to full life by Memorial Day each spring. Do I inevitably wind up with a little snow on the porch furniture? Sure. It happens every year. But that’s a ritual I’m also familiar with. Yet soon enough, the other spring/summer/fall rituals of my life will return: drying clothes on the line, picking fresh herbs and vegetables for dinner, taking a business call while sitting on my back stoop in the sunshine. It’s all waiting for me and when it arrives, I get at least a full eight months before I’m chased back inside for winter.
I needed this week’s warm temperatures to melt the ice in my driveway and create more green patches around the yard and, thankfully, that should be an easily attainable task. The mounds of shoveled snow by the elm tree or off the front deck may take weeks yet to disappear and I have no expectations of that. This Friday promises to be the very last cross country skiing adventure. Two busy Fridays after this means that by the time the calendars of the three sisters clear, so too, will the snow have cleared.
This morning, however, I am simply enjoying this ritual of late winter and early spring. The first breath is like the first snowfall – a bit magical for all that it portends. We all know what comes next and like the first snowfall, it ushers in the beauty of a season and the promise of good days ahead. In late fall, when that snow comes, my heart sings to think of the coming holiday season. In late winter when the break comes, it does the same again.
It’s Monday on this first breath of spring. I need to get to work and face a somewhat busy day. But I start this day full of gratitude knowing that spring will indeed arrive. And in my world? Well, not a minute too soon.
The Yuppie Homesteader 