Yesterday we spent the day cleaning up outside, working in our shirt sleeves, pausing to drink tea and eat lunch in the sun. Glorious! Four crocus in bloom – a set of purple on one side of the garden and yellow on the other. By the time the sun retreated below the tree line, the yellow ones had tightened up into torpedos against the cold of night. There is a lot of work to be done – we beat a quick retreat indoors from winter. Broken birdhouses, flower pots, garden furniture and tools, half-done projects are strewn about, abandoned to the winter elements.
Yesterday, we raked leaves – a job we do not do in the autumn, preferring to mow them up into shreds for mulch. At least that’s our reasoning. But there are bags worth of leaves out there still, and my compost pile is full. We cut back the butterfly bushes to stubs and made trips to the dump. Our neighbors do this before winter sets in, but by the end of summer, we preferred to spend our free time kayaking and then, we just lost heart. Closing down our favorite season makes us sad. Now, fired up for spring just around the corner and glad to be in the sun, we attack these tasks with joy.
Also in the spirit of clean-up, I am back to my book for rewrites based on the good advice of a venerable agent. It’s been months since I’ve immersed myself in this story – my story – and while I feel inspired to make it stronger, I am also dragging my feet, reluctant to recollect those dark days again, like a return to winter. Perhaps I can pretend I am revising fiction – but then – what a different story I would tell.
The last week of this short, cold and snowy month is here, and with it, welcome signs of spring. The sun’s pace seems to have slowed as it slips across the sky, lingering a little longer in warm patches throughout the house. The dog follows the light, curling into the heat and I try and make it up into the bedroom to read by the last glow, mellowing into reds and finally, blues of dusk-to-night. Garden catalogues are stacked and two cherry trees ordered. Yesterday, the snow mostly melted, we walked the yard, assessing what needs to be done. There will be at least another snow, or maybe more – but we are on the right side of winter – the final leg – so I can bear it. The branch tips are heavy with buds and the birds seem to be singing different songs and for a few hours each day, I forget about the cold night still ahead.
A welcome pause. If I close my eyes and listen, it is as if I live in the country surrounded by woods. All I hear (besides the dripping sink!) is the whoosh of wind through the trees. The usual drone of traffic from the nearby highway is muted by snow – already 6 inches deep and falling so fast that the plows can’t keep up. Nothing to do but stay inside, read, write, cook, dream. Maybe the laundry. There is no urgency and it feels like a real vacation day. And outside, everything is beautiful.
There are things I need to do – like sort my tax papers out for next week’s appointment with my tax wizard. There are things I should do like sort out messy closets, but my loves are out of the house – and here in this relative silence, alone, (sweet because it’s rare) I feel motivated to do none of the above. I miss working on my book but feel in a strange hiatus as I wait with fingers crossed, for a response from the agent who has agreed to consider it. I do not feel ready to move on to the next thing – for one, there is no obsession (yet) to tell a story – not like there was with Light Between Shadows, but also because, I am (hopefully) imagining feedback and suggestions from agents and editors that will have me back to the drawing board. I wait and try enjoy this limbo, like a snow day.
Here is what I will cook today:
Thinly sliced beets tossed lightly in olive oil and sea salt and roasted until they are crispy.
Roasted leeks, onions, garlic, garlic, and more garlic, and potatoes into a pot with chicken stock with lots of fresh ginger. Half of it pureed with a handful of frozen spinach. Yum.
Well, love is probably a stretch, but I am trying to improve my seasonal attitude. Just now, forced out into the morning cold by my dog’s baleful eyes and desperate door-scratching, I shivered along the street and tried to think of things I love about winter. The heat and glow of the fireplace, flannel sheets, the fragrance from my Jasmine plants, sleeping… But these are indoor pleasures, more about hiding from these dark, cold days. To really love winter, I must move beyond my inclination to hibernate.
I want to find some joy out here in this frozen world, I think. Searching our quiet street as Tetley pulls me farther away from the warmth of our house, I notice how blue the sky looks and how good it feels to fill my lungs with cold, fresh air. I see the birds flitting about, their markings more vivid against the muted hues of the brush and snow covered ground. Just then, as if campaigning for a spot on my mental list, a hawk announced it’s presence, high up in the trees in the small wood by my house. Magnificently, it arched it’s wings, flipped it’s broad tail and flew across the sky just above me and I feel – joy. I always bemoan the months of the scraggy, sepia landscape, and long for the lush greens – but what am I missing? Today I will bundle up and take a long walk and look a little closer at everything.
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.