Spring, I think, is finally here.
We just had the most glorious weekend, weather-wise, following a week of frigid temperatures that almost convinced me that winter was never going to end. The weekend prior we experienced an ice storm of soul-crushing proportions. We lost power for just over 24 hours but it was more the principle of the thing that was so gutting. Happily, we had no major damage -- all of our trees are intact with only a small mountain of small branches and twiggy bits to clean up.
But now....well, now there are visible buds on the trees and the spring peepers have begun to sing. There are few stubborn piles of snow and ice, but even they are shrinking quickly. I took the Emma-dog around the pond yesterday, thinking to myself as we rounded Willow Corner that the coltsfoot would be out soon...and there it was.
The eastern phoebes are back and this morning, at work, a swallow flew into the barn. These two are the last hold-outs around here, so I suppose I should exhale and sink into the idea that really, truly, spring has arrived. We've just had so many false starts, I'm inclined towards not getting too excited, just in case I have my heart broken. Again.
On my tea-break yesterday afternoon, between the loo-scrubbing and the vacuuming, I had a wander in the garden, to see what's what...
Which reminds me, I found the most hilariously wonderful podcast* -- Fortunately -- via the lovely Sas Petherick who I have such a case of the fangirls for. Anyway, there was a bit in one episode where one of the hosts is doing much the same, pottering-with-tea in her garden....but in a #relatable way, she described it as something along the lines of "staggering about the garden in a menopausal stupor, clutching a mug of a tea".
Anyway, where was I?
Right, the garden. [see above re: menopausal stupor...or in my case, peri-menopausal stupor]
The rhubarb is emerging, as are most of the many varieties of weeds incumbent in my veg patch. The creeping charlie is getting a head-start and I'm wondering if I ought to just pounce on it now. I pulled up a few bits and then felt guilty as the flowers are a good early food for the bees. I got sidetracked from that thought in order to hack down the burdock trees next to the fence as they were dropping their wretched spiky-seed-balls-of-doom over into the beds. I then spent the next 20 minutes trying to extricate the vile clingers from various parts of my person. I then spent a good ten minutes despairing over the amount of things I want to be getting on with before muttering something along the lines of 'sod it' and sitting down on the back step to finish my tea.
The pendulum swings wildly between great aspiration and utter fed-uppery. Both in the garden and out.
Starboy just interrupted me to ask me to smell his armpits. He's just had a bath so I'm happy to report that they're quite delightfully fragrant. Prior to that, he could've anaesthetized an elephant with them. How is it that he grew up so quickly?
That about sums up my days, then. Deep sighs, peppered with bouts of existential despair and with a side-order of hope and optimism.
I'd really like for it to be spring.
~ m. xo
*the premise of the program is a sort of 'highlight reel' of programs on BBC Radio 4 but it's the banter between the two hosts that literally has me LOL-ing...so if you love dry British humour, then you'll quite enjoy Fi and Jane, I think.