Spring
Equinox
“Every
spring is the only spring—a perpetual astonishment.”
Ellis
Peters
Across
the street, in my neighbor's front yard, a red-bud has flung its
magenta arms around the sky. Up and down the street, Bradford pears
form earth-bound clouds, tulip poplar's purple cups catch the first
rays of sun, and forsythias glow like Moses' burning bush. Today is
the first day of a spring we felt might have abandoned Earth
altogether. It is a beautiful sight after a cold, wet winter. All
these beauties are at least a month late in blooming, but, thank God,
they are at last in full flower.
I
am beginning to plan what will go into my tiny garden plot. I bought
seeds and started sugar snap peas and sweet 100 tomatoes in peat
pots. I will use one of my dad's old transit tripods to train the
climbing peas, in hopes his good green thumb will enhance their growth. I will never again attempt heirloom tomatoes that last
year grew as tall as trees but bore no fruit. I am in agreement with
Margaret Atwood, “In spring, at the end of the day, you should
smell like dirt.” Tomorrow, I will feed my rusty boxwood some iron
to help them green up, and cut back the oak-leaf hydrangeas to their
new buds. This is the one time of year that it's pure grace to live
in the deep south. I see the weather map warns of yet another winter
storm across the mid-west and north east this weekend, and I wonder
how on earth they can bear it.
I
hope this Spring Equinox finds you filled with hope and rejoicing. In
the words of that famous philosopher, Robin Williams, “Spring is
nature's way of saying, 'Let's party!'”
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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