April 20, 2009
Last weekend I went home to Birmingham to see my family. My entire life my grandparents have always lived on a farm and all us grandkids have always loved getting to spend time out there any time of year, but springs and summers are the best. Childhood memories range from playing hide and seek with my cousins in grasses so tall it covered us completely, to all of us–at some point–learning to drive a stick shift in Papa’s little truck. There are pictures of us riding on the the tractor and fishing with Papa, painting and doing arts and crafts with Granny, “helping” with the farm by going to pick what we wanted when the season’s bounty was revealed (snap beans, tomatoes, and okra from the farmer’s market just don’t compare), and years ago when Papa still had his chicken farm, we’d get to go in to see the baby chicks and hold them. Though the chicken farm was sold years ago, I can’t remember the last time I went fishing, the vegetable garden lays fallow, and I still can’t drive a stick shift, one thing that the farm always wraps me up in is family and being Southern.
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March 26, 2009
photo credit: @Maco
…the awareness of the changing of seasons as the slowly wax and wane, blending into each other. In years past it seemed as if there were no in-between seasons, so to speak. There was no real distinguishable spring or fall; everything just seemed to explode all at once so that one day the trees were barren of leaves and the next all the pear trees are blossomed and the daffodils had burst into life. But this year I feel a change in my spirit. A gentle appreciation for watching how my surroundings change a little each day. At first it was the forsythias, then the pear trees followed by the dogwoods, and today a few daffodils can be spotted here and there. Spring isn’t bursting her way into the world, but rather, taking the time to introduce herself quietly while letting down her guards one at a time.
But the most soothing to me is the slowly shifting temperature. Days peak in low to mid-60s and the dying of the sun takes the warmth with it and the nights and mornings are still chilly–usually hovering in the high 40s or low 50s. With the slowly ebbing temperatures are also the sunsets. Winter sunsets are almost always rather bleak. In spring the colors of the fading light seem to brighten and become a little more saturated, though still not the intense blazes of color we see in the summer.
Although I look forward to the warmer weather and days of going to the lake house and lying out on a raft in the lake or stretched out in a park on a blanket with a good book, today I merely stood out on my front porch soaking in the gentle calm and peace that today’s close brought with it. The breeze blew just enough to send a few strands of hair flying, and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. March has been a rough month for me emotionally, but I feel my spirit starting to embrace the changes and make the most of them. I finally feel a renewing of my soul.
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” — Rachel Carson
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