Snow is virtually gone – washed by the past few rainy days. At the end of the driveway on a sloping bit of land, the strawberry plants I transplanted out of the vegetable garden last summer, are a stunning green against the wet brown leaves and earth around them. In fact, the plants seem to have multiplied under the icy cover of the past two weeks. I let myself be thrilled by these crazy promises of spring – although it is not yet January and there will be plenty of snow and frigid days ahead. Technically, winter has just begun. Still, this glimpse of green and the pile of seed catalogues on my table feel like harbingers of spring.
This is partly how I navigated through some bleak days in my life: years of my husband’s addiction, his suicide, my bout with breast cancer. Although there were times it was difficult to see the light, I always could imagine brighter days lay ahead. Nature is the key for me. Throughout the seasons, there is always comfort to be found in the natural world. Planting bulbs, for example. Placing the parchment skin covered bulbs into the cool autumn earth was an act of hope. Winters of the world or of the soul can feel long and dark but the bulbs helped me to believe that life would get better: a faith rewarded each spring as the crocus, daffodils, tulips and hyacinths emerge from the still-cold earth.