The first spring I really remember was in March of 1970. I was 8 years old and we had just moved into the first (and only) house my family owned when I was growing up. The previous owner had been a prodigious gardener and soon the ground was bursting with daffodils, hyacinth, tulips, and later flowering Dogwood trees and roses, each with their own delicate beauty and intoxicating scent. Although we (mostly) neglected the gardens for the time we lived in that house, some 14 years later when it was finally sold, many of her flowers were still coming up every year.
This morning, our front yard is filled with some of these same flowers, especially the cheerful yellow daffodils, which are not only in our yard but our neighbor’s across the street. They are telling me that last week’s little storm which dropped a few inches of snow was the last gasp of Winter 2022 and that the form of precipitation from here on will be strictly the liquid kind.
Speaking of rain, it appears to have done so last night. The walk and the ground are glistening and the paper recycling which I put out last night for “the men” to pick up is drenched (sorry, guys!). The rain has stopped for now, but according to the (somewhat) reliable app, it is supposed to start up again at around 11:00. I may hold off on my morning constitutional just so that I can walk in the rain.
In March of 2020, I suddenly found the time and the need to be outside for a significant portion of each day regardless of the weather. I had also invested in a new rain jacket for hiking and needed to test it by wearing it in a heavy downfall. I was reminded of how nice it can be to walk in the rain. The sound of the water on the branches of the still bare trees, the smell of the wet ground, the sense that the trees are waking and drinking. Spring and rain go together like “horse and carriage” as the wisdom of the old song suggests -- April showers and all that.
Wherever you are, I hope it rains soon.