I’m over this so-called winter.
Don’t get me wrong, I love winter. With its bright white sunshine, it makes me feel as if the world is full of possibilities. For me, winter is like a pause. Or a deep breath that centers your mind.
I don’t think we’ve actually had a real winter in years, with accumulated snow that makes any landscape beautiful. Instead, we’ve had these so-called winters that have been endless string of dreary, cloudy, and cold days which make me want to burrow deeper into my blankets. If we’ve had any snow it was a dusting. Or maybe I just didn’t notice. How sad.
As the days grow longer and the calendar approaches April, I long for spring. Like many of my co-workers, I think we need to encourage a certain groundhog to retire. Obviously, he’s lost his touch. The daffodils, which announce spring better than ole Phil, have been in bloom along the roads for weeks. They seem so out of place with the dreary days.
When I was a kid, I would watch for the daffodils. I’d get off the bus in the afternoons, toss my books into the house, and run into the pasture past the barn until I reached the Old House Place. It was a lot that once had a wood-framed house where my grandmother’s cousins lived. There are several large trees on the lot which would have surrounded the house with shade. The house is long gone, but what remained were thousands of daffodils, paper whites, and sweet peas. It was the closest thing to the secret garden I often read about. It was one of my favorite places on our farm. It was also a favorite place for our cattle, who loved to graze there. They probably ate the blooms, but I swear they didn’t. I think they liked hanging out with the flowers, like I did. When the magical day arrived and the daffodils bloomed, I’d find a spot and just lay down among them and the cows. It was my idea of heaven. Daffodils are still my favorite flower, but this year, they’ve made me a little sad to see them braving this crappy weather. They deserve a little sunshine and just haven’t gotten it.
During the winter season, my primary goal is to accomplish very little around the house. Oh, I maintain the vacuuming and the laundry. I dust occasionally, but there’s no real joy in it. After spending spring, summer, and each fall being industrious with my gardening and canning, I’m ready to relax after the holidays. On rainy weekends, I’ll open a closet and consider cleaning it out. But I don’t. I’ll walk into my pantry and consider reorganizing the cabinets. But I don’t. I’ll wander from room to room and consider tackling a major deep cleaning. But I don’t. Instead, I’ll settle in with a book or a movie. After all, I rarely take a day to simply relax.
But after three months of considering stuff to do, I’m ready to actually start doing something again. I’m ready to clean out the flower beds of their dead leaves and eager weeds. I’m ready to spend a Saturday with the sun warm on my back, as I put down new mulch. I’m ready to wash windows and dust away the cobwebs. I’m ready to clean out the sun porch and paint the wicker furniture. I’m ready to till the garden and smell the earth. I’m ready to dig deep into the rich compost piles my Beloved has been tending. I’m ready for spring.
The forecast calls for more rain and potential snow for this weekend. Guess, I’ll have to be patient. Or finally clean out that closet.