Predawn. He is out there, calling for a mate. The first frog.
He is quite literally the first, because I have never heard a frog on this property. This little guy may be croaking for a couple of months before he finds that “perfect someone”. Is it springtime? The calendar reads January.
I have been pulling weeds, so many weeds. In the last few years, January bodes as “crunch month”. The bulbs rise above the surface and the young poppies crack the soil in light chartreuse. The race begins.
When we wrap up the fall garden, it is NOT ready for spring. This year I left most of the fucias alone, leafing and blooming. There is still a bloomer in the backyard. The hummingbirds use them as food. The winter never conclusively stated, “I am here”. The plants have been indecisive.
We have been indecisive. We are all pulling weeds, looking at the world, our lives, and making decisions about what stays and what goes. The process of 2020 was not a one year purge. The ’20s, the roaring ’20s are shifting us.
Our little spring sprouts are pensively peaking out above the surface, checking, deciding if the groundhog will keep us low and slow.
Jan gifted me a beautiful glass vase of tulip bulbs. They are indoors. Inches of height have emerged each day. The rush to bloom.
No rush. We are more like the outdoor plants. A cold snap could take us down.
Spend time on your roots. Continue to look. To ponder. To weed. Real growth, growth that changes our lives, changes the world, takes time.
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