The coming of spring
Water drops softly to the ground as snow melts through the cracks of my backyard deck. I love the pitter-patter sound as droplets land in pools of melted ice. I stand, close my eyes and breathe in the warm air of this late-winter day. In one week spring arrives.
I anxiously await the arrival of red-breasted robins. With the arrival of a robin, comes the arrival of leaf buds on trees, crocus flowers peeking through dark soil and the contemplation of showing my white, pasty legs to the world as I don short-pants, begging for sun to naturally warm my legs.
Spring is the midwife of nature; birthing life to trees, plants, animals and the human spirit. Spring offers winter one good spank on the butt and declares, “Wake Up!” Winter withers goodbye as spring brightens Mother Earth. Where is my robin?
Still standing on my deck, I survey the yard making mental notes of work needed to prepare the garden for summer. Piles of dog poop hidden by winter snow does little to whet my appetite for garden greens. I lose my attention focused on the garden and turn my attention to trees and shrubs. Eliminating a few branches from the ancient Ponderosa pines open my view of Canfield Mountain. Trimming dogwood bushes offer a tailored elegance to the yard. Mental notes solidified, I move to the front yard.
Raking, plugging, mulching, thatching, fertilizing and mowing the yard are tasks too heady to contemplate so early in the year. I shake my head, smell coffee brewing in the house and leave the harsh winter tundra for a kiss from my wife and a warm cup of joe.
Inside my unnaturally warned home heated by “natural” gas, I begin to sweat. Surrounded by manufactured materials, tempted by industrially created food by-products imported from Chile, Taiwan and Mexico, I begin to feel uncomfortable.
Where is my sense of Idaho? Where is my wild game, frozen huckleberries, canned apples, dried peppers and garden-fresh, stewed tomatoes? Where are my farm-fresh eggs? Where is my locally harvested goat cheese? Where is my fresh-smoked bluebacks from Lake Coeur d’Alene and my honey and maple cold-smoked Clearwater steelhead?
Summer, autumn, winter and spring are all around me. The deer I harvested in November waits for me to make an amazing chili heated by the hot peppers grown on my deck in containers that are now dried and jarred in the pantry. Huckleberries, picked with the help of my grandkids this past year, are added to bread pudding and topped with a Wild Turkey sabayon to offer hints of summer. Tomatoes, beans and peas from my garden continue to nourish my soul this cold winter morning.
Winter is a frame of mind. Love it or hate it, it comes every year and remains for three months. Embrace the snow, frost, freeze and cold making the beauty of spring enchanting. The end of winter is a celebration. Celebrate the ample sleep one enjoys during the short days of winter. Celebrate the people inside one’s home who one loves. Celebrate the coming of spring. The world is about to come back to life.
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Send comments or other suggestions to William Rutherford at bprutherford@hotmail.com or visit pensiveparenting.com.