Spring conjures one miracle on top of another.
Life’s groundswell happens beyond our senses, so it’s in motion before we pick up the signs. I imagine a sorcerer, like Mickey Mouse in “Fantasia,” conducting nature’s orchestra. Colorful music swirls in response to wild arm-waving and emphatic baton-pointing that reminds every blade of grass, flower and tree it’s time to give it their all.
A zillion resurrections are sparking as you read this.
We take seasonal change for granted because we expect nature to shift with the calendar and we know it’s not our place to rush it or slow it. We don’t feel the Earth’s race around the sun. And though we feel the change of season in the air, we’re not tuned in to hear the whisper that tells the nature around us (and maybe tells us too) that change is here. The cue that coaxes barren twigs to blossom requires no understanding, action or faith from us.
But wonder, the wonder at all of it, is essential.
We made it through Maine’s shoulder season, with spiteful skies spitting sleet and freezing rain. We welcomed mud season, managed frozen mud season, and now that plain old mud season’s back, fair winds are coloring the grass green.
As much as I like variety, I like control over change more. Our obsession with tracking the weather (really, a whole television channel dedicated to weather) tells me I’m not alone. We like stability and a solid plan, but nature plods on, doing what it will do without a care for our needs.
I’m not one of those people who believes suffering makes good times sweeter. I don’t need a storm to rip shingles off my house to appreciate a roof over my head. I don’t need to feel frozen to the bone to be thankful for comforting warmth. I do believe that learning to be grateful for everything — even the hardest things — is essential. Good, bad and the spectrum in between are inseparable, woven together into our lives and nature’s essence.
I hope I always have the presence of mind and strength to throw my arms around all of it.
My family had a harder than usual winter, with a medical emergency that kept unfolding and refolding and rolling along. It was consuming, challenging, hopeful and incredible. Family and friends showed up. Calls were made and answered. Networks activated, good vibes sent and felt.
Illness is “winter” in a seasons-of-life analogy, and like the real thing, we all want the shortest winter possible. But the freeze of winter is part of the cycle that makes room for spring. Hard times let up and good times roll. It’s part of the rhythm, the spring back, and the order of things.
When I was at the hospital with my family, talking to doctors and nurses and hearing machines blip and beep, I knew the moment outstripped my skills. I consulted Dr. Google and the new star internist, ChatGPT. I collaborated with family and summoned all my critical thinking skills and still got “meh” answers to brilliant questions. We demanded attention and contemplation. We took notes and compared them. Our wheels screeched.
As control diminishes, decibels rise, and nobody should be ill without a loud advocate at their side. Hospitals are understaffed and staff is overworked, so family makes a difference in care. But being noisy wasn’t my greatest contribution. The bigger gift is in bearing witness, being grateful, and learning to manage my reactions to the season. Raining a lot? There are L.L. Bean boots for that. Is the cold lingering longer than expected? Sweaters and wool socks worked all winter, and they’ll keep working. Wind making the power blip? The dance of candlelight is lovely and oh, the grounding scent of bergamot and black tea.
There’s power in showing up, maintaining wonder at the messiness of life, and accepting the limits of control as you manage through the seasons.
My family got another spring.
People’s life seasons are chaotic attention seekers, and you can move forward only to be pulled back into the season you left behind. You don’t always get to choose or dictate the pace of change, and when the change comes, it can be a jolt because we aren’t tuned into the cues.
Nature’s a cool operator. Seasons are patient, each rooting for the other and only swelling to life when the time is right.
Right now, snow blossoms are giving way to creeping thyme and the buds on the weeping cherry will pop like corn, white kernels floating on the breeze of change and skittering across the proud, green lawn. Nature’s orchestra is doing what it does: performing miracles.
And in all our unsubtle, out-of-tune messiness, we’re part of the magic. Maybe we aren’t wired to get all the signals. We don’t feel the roots around us open, the energy swirling, tapping dormant flowers on the shoulder, waking them, reminding sleeping bees they need to get a move on or they’ll be late for work.
Maybe we take too much for granted, so our change of season is a shock.
And maybe, through the wonder of it all, we get another spring.
