Recently, I emerged from my house to the sounds of snowmelt dripping from my roof and the boisterous trilling of a Red-winged Blackbird. Although they’re common birds, they’ve always been my favorite since they're harbingers of spring.
I’m grateful, because if I had to endure one more day of winter, I’m not sure I could do it. I’d roll over, go back to bed, and try again tomorrow.
It’s ironic, because back in the fall, I wished for a winter like we used to have. One just like we had when we were kids. Back then, the endless snowfall was fun because Mom did everything: the planning, navigating, and driving. I was a kid. All I had to do was to dress myself, put on my boots, and hop in the car to be ferried away to whatever adventure awaited us.
Back in November when the first snows began to fall, I got excited. Weather predictions indicated that we were in for a snowy winter, and remembrances of winter’s past set in. Nostalgia for Christmas shopping along snowy streets quickly morphed into white-knuckled drives and slippery sidewalks, all in the quest for the perfect present. I took my shopping online. After the New Year, I was utterly unprepared for the sustained, teeth-chattering, bitter cold that descended upon us and lurked around for the next two, long months. The post-holiday glow was gone, along with the fancy foods and celebrations that make the winter months bearable.
I escaped by immersing myself in the novels I received for Christmas and my birthday, two of which were set in balmy, tropical Hawaii. Constructive escapes when the winter blues set in are hard to come by. Much like the post-holiday let down, even these literary escapes soon lost their luster. I was stuck. In the midst of the coldest, darkest, longest winter in eight years, it was difficult to see an ending in sight. I spent hours each day, sitting in front of my Happy Light ®, slogging through another day just like the one that preceded it.
But here’s what I know: light always follows darkness; winter eventually cedes to spring. Lately, days have begun to lengthen to the point where I’m no longer driving to and from work in total darkness. That’s helped. It’s also been warming up enough for me to venture outside to walk, instead of the endless laps I walked in the campus tunnels all winter. I’m grateful for those tunnels, too. A lack of physical activity would've exacerbated this situation.
Now that I’m able to walk outside again, I’m noticing crocuses and daffodils emerging, and trees budding, sure signs that spring is here. The early morning bird song fills me with the promise that the better days I hoped for are on their way. Even the incessant rain last week didn’t dampen my mood, which has been on an upswing since I flipped my calendar to March. I know that the riot of color that will soon be blooming all around me wouldn’t be possible without the rain.
Springtime signals hope, renewal, possibility, and growth. It’s the promise of longer, brighter days ahead, time spent in fresh air, outdoor dining, the return of songbirds, and lush green everywhere.
For the past 23 years, my husband, who’s a botanist, has been restoring our three acres into a native prairie, much like the Kankakee River Valley looked like over 200 years ago. Currently, we have over 480 different native species, making these three, humble acres one of our area’s most biodiverse. I love our prairie during all seasons, but I’m partial to springtime and its many hues of purple. We also keep bees, and my favorite is standing under our blooming fruit trees and listening to their perpetual buzzing. It’s otherworldly, and a little scary.
I’m also filled with hope when I read the words of scientist, author, and the founder of the modern environmental movement, Rachel Carson, who observed: “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.”
Music: "Fell On Black Days" by Soundgarden
