Looking at the calendar, I remember facing December 1st, and the dread I felt over the onset of winter. Not a “Central Valley of California” winter, where the lows never got much past freezing. High desert Northern Nevada winters where the high might reach 20, while the wind chill factor would be much lower than that. That kind of winter. Postcard winter-white days, with mustangs standing in snow, their woolly coats hiding protruding ribs. Winters in which the cloudy sky kept the sunshine hidden for days on end. Winter days when my garden slept soundly.
Well, Day One of spring is three weeks away!!! The time will change on March 14th, giving us long evenings to putter around in the garden. The birds are gearing up for new life. More exciting than that, my lawn knows. Yesterday, I spent some time cleaning up. The lawn had a hint of green, being just a tad warmer than the surrounding air under the protective blanket of decaying leaves. How exciting! It thrills the heart of any gardener. Mine is no exception.
I’m itching to bring out all the lawn and garden furniture I tucked away in November. But, the high, as I write, is 23. Still a little chilly to tan with a glass of lemonade. The optimism spring brings makes me want to jump the gun and drag things out. I just may need to act on that impulse.
For Christmas, I bought myself a new wind chime. One with beautiful tones that will sing softly as the breezes of spring blow across the desert. With the stronger winds of March, it will complain louder. Clanging will occur as torrential spring rains pummel the ground. My yard came prepared, with a complete drainage system to carry away water from flash floods. The desert is a brutal place in so many ways.
Back yard sounds bring thoughts of widowhood. The torrential sobs, out of control and vicious, that rack a new widow with agonizing pain during shock and denial. Soft voices bringing comfort to a broken heart as it suffers through pain and guilt. Depression, reflection, and loneliness that blow over in waves like a high desert wind storm. Just as the chopping hoe removes unwanted weeds and the rake smooths the ruts, life is reconstructed. As the garden blooms again in the warmth of the sun, the heart works through the unthinkable. Acceptance arrives, just as surely as spring has, year after year, century after century, since the beginning of time. Predictable and sure.
Winter in my yard has been silent. Octogenarian neighbors have huddled inside, not even asking gardeners come to bring relief from the quiet. Sounds, created miles away, drift slowly towards Winterpast. The sounds of nature have been my only company on most days, and know them well. I know how long it takes for a howling bank of wind to buffet my house. I know their usual path and the sound tells me their strength. How many city dwellers don’t even know the wind makes a sound? In my world, the wind IS the sound.
Even now, in the newest of light in the day, the birds are talking. Planning their course. Flirting. Little birdie dates are being made. The search for nest material has begun. The fight over the bird houses is in full swing. Spring! Spring! Spring!
Get your shovels sharpened, and take inventory of your garden tools. Don’t wait! Go buy some new bulbs and plants to dress the garden in color. Time to nourish the soil and prune the roses. The show is about to begin. Don’t be late. Three Weeks Left!!!!! SPRING!!!!!!