spring...again!

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” – John Steinbeck

I just talked to my Dad in Colorado. They are buried in snow there - high today of 18 degrees, low tonight, 12. In contrast, I am sitting in my office, windows open, warm breeze blowing through – the high today here will be 84, the low tonight 60. The birds are singing so loudly my Dad asked if I was in “some kind of bird sanctuary.”  Nope, just my yard; it’s a busy time of year for birds here…springtime in the South.

I grew up in Colorado where April blizzards are the norm. My daughter was born in early April; she was born in a blizzard and celebrated more snowy birthdays than bright ones until we moved to the South. Once here, those spring blizzards drifted away as possibilities in our minds; my daughter grew up with the dog wood tree outside her bedroom window in full bloom, rather than a storm, proclaiming her birthday.

Contrast is odd that way - wherever you are is the middle of everything. It’s hard to visualize all the different places and circumstances other people are in. My poor ole’ Dad’s out shoveling snow while I’m donning shorts and flip flops...It’s the same with so many other things. When my family is all well, it’s hard to remember there’s illness in the world. When an accident happens to one of us, it’s hard to remember what all those healthy days felt like.

The worst, for me, is trying to wrap my head around the truly big disasters like catastrophic storms, floods, tornadoes, mass shootings, wars, murdered children…I see images of the aftermath, the devastation and need, and I’m paralyzed - even writing a check to the Red Cross seems like too much. It’s as if, if I really look at those images and then do something even as minor as write a check in response, the catastrophe has become real and somehow touched my life. I don’t want catastrophe to touch my life.

It’s the same with regard to serious illness or injury. I broke my shoulder, had a few months of pain and inconvenience, and it was as if the world was ending. There are people with terminal cancer, people who have a loved one who is very sick, people who have suffered terrible accidents, or watched their loved ones suffer from the same…Somehow they manage to go on, and on, and on, so bravely. I fear that I could not do that, so I turn away. I’m not proud about this, but it is, at least so far, how I am.   

That’s the thing about spring, though. It always brings hope – hope that things can be different, better, changed, not the same. If those tiny seeds can turn into those huge tomato plants, then maybe we can grow, too. Maybe there’s some seed of something inside me just waiting to sprout, something unexpected that makes me stronger, wiser, more joyful or more useful than I am.

I planted my garden a few days ago and for me, that is a powerful, spiritual experience, in a light-hearted sort of way. Every year I curse the weeds and dirt clumps and compost as I prepare the soil. Every year I fret about how tiny and lost those seedlings look out there in that big garden, trying to get used to the sun, wind and rain. Every year I marvel at how quickly the seeds sprout and the plants become tall and strong. Every year I grow weary of continued weeding and watering at about the time the fruit starts coming in. Then, there’s the bounty of the ongoing summer harvest…Where did all these veggies come from and what in the world are we going to do with them?

Like life and the seasons, gardening is cyclical and wonderful for being that way. I like to think even the sickest or most broken people, victims by no fault of their own, still glean a moment of peace or comfort when the sun shines just right on their face, or when, for even a moment, a spring breeze blows by…Maybe the sight of a tiny plant pushing through the devastation or a bright bloom outside their window gives them hope, hope for a better whatever comes next...I like to think that, anyway.