June Is Not Quite Bustin' Out All Over

Even if you’re not a Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, even if you’re not a musical theatre fan at all, you probably know (or at least, have heard) the song, “June Is Bustin’ Out All Over” from the musical Carousel.

The clip above shows what you expect to see in June in New England: bright sunshine, people in shirtsleeves, a light breeze, happiness all around. Even in real life, June is a time of year when you can actually imagine a bunch of people randomly breaking into song and dance for no particular reason. The lyric at about 2:10 sums up our expectations of the spring into summer transition here in New England: “March went out like a lion, a-whippin’ up the water in the bay. Then April cried and stepped aside, and along come pretty little May. May was full of promises, but she didn’t keep ‘em quick enough for some, and a crowd of doubtin’ Thomases was predictin’ that the summer’d never come. But it’s comin’, by gum! You can feel it come! You can feel it in your heart, you can see it in the ground, you can hear it in the trees, you can smell it in the breeze. Look around! Look around! Look around!” And then of course, it goes into the best-known line from the well-known chorus, and the very title of the song itself: “June is bustin’ out all over!”

But June hasn’t quite busted out anywhere around these parts yet. Today is a rather April-ish June, with cold temperatures, cloudy skies, and dreary rain. Instead of short sleeves and sandals, we’re all donning our rain slickers and galoshes. We’ve traded in our iced coffees for steaming mugs of joe. We’re pushing the “heated seats” button in our cars instead of the “A/C” button. The colorful flowers in the garden are sagging under the heavy rain and looking like they’d like to bust right back into the ground.

And yet, with the silence of the air conditioner that ISN’T running in my window, I can hear a whole flock of determined birds happily chirping outside. When I peek through the rain-streaked window, I can see my little neighborhood bunny happily nibbling on the damp grass, looking not the slightest bit deterred by the weather.

Maybe it’s because they don’t have calendars so they don’t quite realize that today is the first day of June. After all, last week was full of gorgeous warm days, days when I admired how quickly my impatiens had started to spread, noticing that our grass had thickened up and was ready to be mowed, happy at how much the ivy and the grapevine on the fence and spread and created a pretty green privacy hedge by the pool. If I wasn't expecting a beautiful day today merely by virtue of the fact that it's June first, I wouldn't be disappointed, either.

But maybe they just remember that the cool, damp, dreary weather makes us all, plants and animals and humans alike, appreciate the warm, dry, sunny weather ahead all the more. So I’ll try to hang in there for another few days, and I’ll keep hoping that before I know it, June really WILL be bustin’ out all over!!

Lent Photo a Day: Peace

My world is filled with some kind of noise nearly every moment of every waking hour. I wake up in the morning to the sound of little voices down the hall (sometimes chattering happily, sometimes screeching painfully). Through most of the day, there is a constant background noise of voices from the television or radio, of music playing, of traffic going past, of ringing telephones, of children playing in the next room, of my husband deep in conversation on the phone. It isn’t necessarily unpleasant noise, or even unwelcome. But it is nearly constant. So on the rare occasion when there is a moment or two of peace, it’s noticeable. And pleasant. And very, very welcome.

This morning, for some reason, my kids were reasonably subdued when they got up. I settled them in the downstairs playroom with their breakfast, without turning on the television. They ate quietly, without squabbling or talking or constantly calling to me as they often do. I came upstairs to make myself a cup of coffee, and didn’t turn on the radio, as I usually do in the morning. And then I noticed the local mourning doves wandering around on the porch, looking hopeful, so I went outside to give them their breakfast. I noticed that it was as unusually quiet and peaceful outside my house as it was inside. Unlike just a few days ago when the trees in my yard had been so full of noisy birds that I could hardly hear anything else, now I could only hear one single bird, perched so high in the branches that I couldn’t even pick him out, happily singing his spring song to the blue sky, whistling in short bursts with long pauses in between, as if he were waiting for his lady love to reply.

I stood there for several minutes, feeling the warm sun on my face and the cold flagstones under my bare feet, smelling the damp smells of early spring, listening to the alternating silence and song from the tree above. And I felt peace.

Peace. 

Lent Photo a Day: Celebrate

For today’s “Celebrate” photo, I thought that I might be able to find a green sprout peeking out of my garden somewhere. I went outside and peered between the front bushes where the hostas often sprout early in the spring. I looked around the side of the house where ferns sometimes spring up. The area in front of the driveway where the bulbs are is still buried underneath several feet of crusty, sooty ice and snow. The few places where there was visible soil, there were no sprouts of green grass, no leaves getting ready to unfurl, no snowdrops about to burst into bloom. There was muddy dirt, and there was muddy snow. The only glimpse of green I could find was a manky old green sweatsock that had appeared in a melting snowbank a day or so ago, source unknown.

It was ugly against ugly, the filthy green against the filthy white. It certainly didn’t put me in the mind to celebrate. But as I glared at it in disgust, I realized that despite its ugliness, there was plenty of beauty around me. It was warm enough that I had come outside wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no coat. The rays of the sun had a golden quality that tinged the snowbanks with their glow and cast artistic shadows all over the yard. Dozens of different kinds of birds were singing happily in the trees. Overhead, a lazy jet made soft whooshing noises in the sky. Down the street, I could faintly hear the happy voices of boys playing street hockey. A neighbor walked by with his dog, softly whistling to her.

It’s not yet time to celebrate the re-awakening of the earth, the growth of the tiny green things, the rebirth of lawns and gardens. But it is time to celebrate the coming of spring: looking forward to those awakenings, to that growth, to the rebirth. There may not be baby birds, but there are eggs. There may not be sprouts, but there are seeds. There may not be spring, but there is anticipation. We can anticipate. We can hope. We can celebrate.

Celebrate.

Lent Photo a Day: Light

At this time of year, when winter is finally transforming into spring, when the days have grown longer, when we have moved our clocks ahead an hour, I am more aware of the effect of light than any other time. The disheartening feeling of getting up in the dark and having dinner in the dark is over and done with. No more creeping out of bed before the sun. No more watching car headlights pass by while I’m making supper. Instead, I wake to the sight of cheerful sunbeams dancing on the ceiling. I watch the glory of the sunset when dinner is long over. The sun itself is stronger: instead of thin, weak, ineffective rays, the gold streaks are warm and life-giving. Not only is there more light, but the quality of the light has changed.

Our entire existence is dependent on light. Without light, plants could not grow and provide us with food. Without the warmth of sunlight, our world would be covered with ice. Without light, we could not see to function. Without light, life is not possible. So it is no surprise that many ancient cultures created legends about light. Apollo, the god of light who pulls the chariot of the sun across the sky, often attributed with the power to heal and to defeat evil. Artemis, Apollo’s twin sister, a goddess of light who protected gentle animals and other innocents. Persephone, wife of Hades, the god of the dark underworld, who returns to earth each spring, bringing with her warmth and light, often pictured holding a flaming torch. The gods had the power to grant or to withhold light from mankind. The power of light, and therefore life itself, was in their hands.

Modern people understand that the changing of the light is a pattern on which we can rely. We have no fear that days will keep becoming shorter until the light is gone. We know there will not come a day when the sun simply does not rise. We are confident that spring will always come. We trust in the light. We are grateful for the light. Especially now, when we have missed the light for a long time, we are thankful that the light always returns.

Light.

Lent Photo a Day: Wilderness

Wilderness can come in many forms. Wilderness is a place that is untamed by mankind, but it can be either barren or overgrown. We think of early American settlers as crossing the wilderness: cutting paths through forests, clearing bushes to build their homes, leveling the overgrown plants to plant their own cultivated crops. We also think of Moses and the Hebrew people being lost in the wilderness as they fled Egyptian slavery. Their wilderness was sand and rock and sun and drought. It needed to be tamed, not by cutting back the overgrown plants, but by coaxing plants to grow by digging wells and adding nutrients to the soil and providing shade. Both forms of wilderness needing to be tamed, and yet very different from each other.

This morning, my front yard looks like still another kind of wilderness. This wilderness is cold and white and barren and ice-covered. There is no warmth for plants to grow, the soil is buried under both fresh and packed-down snow and ice, the plants have not yet attempted to peek out their green shoots from the hard soil.

But even in the wilderness, there is life. I expected last night’s snowfall to have left a clean, even, unbroken coating over the lawn. But by the time the sun rose, there was already evidence of small explorers, travelers through the white wilderness. Long before dawn, our local rabbit had left a trail of little bunny prints poking around the yard.

He peeped under the bushes to find a bit of tender green, to test the soil for softness, to hunt for fresh growth to nibble on. Even in the wilderness, he knew there was sustenance, if only he could find it.

And even as I watched, other creatures followed the trail he had blazed: birds hopped around looking for seeds and bugs; squirrels chased each other, digging at the roots of the trees for last year’s acorns. They were not afraid of the apparent barrenness of the wilderness, for they know that it is not truly barren. It is simply waiting for the warmth of spring to release its treasures of blooms and bugs, of color and energy, of growth and beauty. The wilderness is waiting to be tamed, and to share its sustaining reward.

Wilderness.

Photo A Day, Day 23: Entrance

My mom used to get very nervous and slightly flustered every time she was expecting company. After I was married, I was talking to her about getting ready to host a large party with my husband and she told me, with just a hint of envy in her voice, “You have such a gift of hospitality.” Her name was Martha, and her friends often teased her that she was well named, because if Jesus had been coming to her house, she would absolutely have been the one fussing over whether there was cream for the coffee instead of sitting at His feet, enjoying His company. I, however, tend to be more of a Mary, preparing carefully in advance for guests but once they’re here, spending less time worrying about their needs and more time enjoying their company.

But that’s not to say that I’m not concerned about making my guests feel comfortable and welcomed. That is very important to me. I try very hard to make my house feel welcoming and cozy. I scrub the floors and the tables, I put everything in its place, I light candles, I make sure there’s plenty of soap and towels and toilet paper and food, I set out snacks and wine glasses and cocktail napkins. And when my guests pull up in my driveway, I meet them at the front door.

As a hostess, I feel like the entrance to my home is the first impression a guest gets of my hospitality, and I want to make it a pleasant impression. I turn the chandelier on to a low glow, I make sure the rugs are laying properly, I clear out enough hangers in the hall closet that I can hang guests’ coats neatly, I light a candle and put flowers on the hall table, I put decorations and plants along the walkway and the front stairs. And for just a few days every spring, Mother Nature herself decorates the entrance to my house by sending our magnolia tree into magnificent blossom.

The deep pink buds explode into white flowers with bright pink tips, bursting with color against the pale beige and dark green canvas of the house behind it. Our front yard won’t sustain much other than evergreen shrubs, hostas, and a handful of dwarf irises which won’t bloom for another month, so the splash of bright pink is doubly striking as the only color around. Those blossoms may be spring announcing its entrance, but I appreciate the fact that she does it so conveniently in front of MY entrance.

Photo A Day, Day 6: A Taste of Spring

When I think of things you eat that signify spring, I think of fresh herbs and vegetables. But those don’t usually arrive until later in the spring. Edibles that DO arrive at the very start of spring, however, are all the delicious candies and treats associated with Easter: Cadbury crème eggs, jellybeans, chocolate bunnies, marshmallow Peeps, and – in our house, at least – jello eggs.

We have a set of Tupperware molds in the shape of eggs, and it is an annual tradition for either Dad and the kids or Mom and the kids to mix up a bunch of colors of jello, pour them into the molds (occasionally layering the colors for artistic effect), then wait impatiently for them to set so that we can pop the eggs out and nibble the wiggly, fruity deliciousness. 

To me, the bright cheery colors of the eggs remind me of stained glass windows. They glisten in the sun almost like crystals, the colors glowing from within. They remind me of all the bright spring blossoms that will soon be – or already are – bursting forth in my garden and in my neighbors’ gardens. The fresh, fruity, sweet smell combines the best of sugary Easter basket treats soon to come and the green growing things that are finally peeking out of the ground in spring. And the sweet yet tart flavors make my mouth pucker and water, anticipating all the wonderfully fresh and fruity flavors of spring foods.

Jello eggs are my favorite first taste of spring!

Spring Me

It’s official: I am sick of winter.

I’m sick of snow. I’m sick of ice. I’m sick of cold.

I’m sick of snowplows and salt trucks and sanders and snowblowers and shovels.

I’m sick of mopping up dirty, salt-filled puddles of melted snow from my kitchen floor. I’m sick of starting to get ready for any trip 15 minutes sooner than usual so I can pack the kids into their mittens and hats and boots. I’m sick of scraping the ice off my car. I’m sick of worrying that my kids will fall on the ice. I’m sick of waiting anxiously for my husband to make it home from work during a snowstorm.

I’m sick of winter. I’m ready for spring.

It doesn’t help that many of my wiser friends are currently in warmer climes, whether for a well-timed vacation or because they were smart enough to move out of the snow belt. And it doesn’t help that they are posting photos of lovely tropical scenes involving palm trees, beaches, swimming pools, people wearing bathing suits and shorts, and NO SNOW.

Somebody spring me.

I need to see some crocuses and snowdrops poking their noses through a snowbank. I need lovesick chickadees calling to each other and cardinals warbling to their lady loves and robins chasing worms. I need daffodil buds and fuzzy pussy willows and forsythias exploding with golden blossoms.

But since I’m not expecting to see any of those outside my window any time soon, I guess I’ll have to settle for some virtual spring. 

Whew. I feel better now. Guess I’ve been sprung!

I Saw the Sign(s)

Since this morning was sunny and relatively warm, and since my kids (and myself) seem to be suffering from a bit of cabin fever and a desperate need of fresh air, I decided that it would be a good day to take a long walk. And since I’ve been reading up on homeschooling lately and am getting inspired, I also decided that it would be a good opportunity to learn about spring. So as part of our walk, we looked for signs of spring. This is what we found!

1.      Puddles

We traced some puddles back to clumps of snow that were melting. We traced other puddles back to hoses coming from people’s basements. Both sources of puddles are definitely a sign that the snow is melting and spring is coming!

 

2.      Mud

Much like #1 above, mud is a sometimes unpleasant sign of the coming of spring. Melting snow mixed with road sand and clots of dirt thrown up by careless snowplows results in fascinating mud sculptures in the shape of everything from tire ruts to fantastical cityscapes. And, of course, muddy footprints. Lots of muddy footprints. A sign not only of the arrival of spring but also of the need of spring cleaning in its many forms.

 

3.      Easter decorations

We saw several houses with Easter flags or Easter baskets or Easter bunnies or spring wreaths hanging on their front doors. We saw one house with two bushes out front covered with brightly colored plastic Easter eggs. We saw a neighbor hanging up a big Easter bunny flag. He asked my son if the Easter bunny was coming to our house and what he would bring. My son said that he WAS coming and would bring us Easter eggs with candy inside! Anticipation of Easter candy by small children is a sure sign of spring.

 

4.      Birds

We heard lots of birds singing their spring songs: the distinctive “chim-chim-cherreeee” of a red-winged blackbird, the “sweeeeeetie” call of a lovesick chickadee, the serene hooting of a mourning dove. We saw a robin hopping about searching for worms. We saw a bird’s nest in a tree. Seeing and hearing more birds than we have in a while, and especially hearing the change in their songs to their spring mating calls, is one of the earliest – and one of my favorite – signs of spring.

 

5.      Budding plants

The tree in our front yard has fat, fuzzy buds all over it. There are a dozen or so dwarf irises peeking their little green noses through the dirt and snow by our front steps. We saw some forsythia that was starting to bud. One of our neighbors has clumps of some kind of decorative grass that has some fresh, bright green tips poking up among the dead brown leaves from last year. In a year when we’ve been taunted by warm weather interspersed with snowstorms, new green leaves are a reassurance that eventually the snowstorms will stop coming and the warm spring weather will be here to stay.

 

It felt good to get some fresh air and exercise, it felt great to spend time talking and learning with my kids, but it felt spectacular to prove to myself that spring really is on its way. I know it is, because I saw the sign(s)!

Aaaaand We're Walking...We're Walking....

For the past three days, New England has burst from a long spell of rain and wind and cold into some of the most glorious spring weather you could imagine. The birds have broken into their spring love calls, the crocuses are bursting into bloom, the trees have tiny green buds peeking out from their branches, the snow is a distant memory, and the air has that wonderful smell that only comes with the new spring season. And the best part of all is: it's walking season!

Last month there were a few days with walk-worthy weather, but there was still snow on the ground, which made sidewalks impassable and walking on the shoulder dangerous. So the best we could do was walk around the yard or hang out on the porch. But for the past three days, Ryan and I have been able to take wonderful, safe, sweet-smelling walks every single day!

He's big enough now to sit up in the stroller without the car seat, so he gets to face front and look at everything going by. Which also means he tends to get the sun in his face for nearly half our walk. Luckily, I found him a cute pair of sunglasses. The only problem is that since he has such a big pumpkin head, I had to get a bigger kids' size, and his little button nose hasn't quite grown into them, so they tend to slide down and give him a sunglasses mustache when we go over bumps. The bows are also a little long, so when he leans back against the stroller back, the glasses push forward so that when he turns his head the glasses stay facing forward. I have to admit, I find both of those issues terribly amusing, although Ryan doesn't seem to share my hilarity. But eventually I get him settled and comfortable and off we go!

I find myself narrating everything as we pass, just like my mom tells me she did when I was a baby. I tell him the names of the birds that we hear singing (by the time he can talk he'll know a chickadee from a robin from a mourning dove), I bark at the neighborhood dogs and meow at the cats, I tell him the color of each passing car. We occasionally bump into a neighbor or a passing jogger or the mailman and we stop for a chat. (His sunglasses have been an excellent conversation starter.) I want him to enjoy seeing and hearing and smelling everything! I want him to be able to take it all in, to enjoy the fresh air, to love being in the outdoors.

And I can't wait until this summer when we take him on a real hike. We already have plans to go camping in the mountains - we have a new tent that's big enough for him and all his accoutrements, and a big framepack so Daddy can tote him up the mountain. (The teddy bear pocket is a very important feature.)

Which seems only fair, considering that Mommy toted him last summer!

But in the meantime, we'd better keep practicing so we're all in shape by the time summer rolls around. And so we're walking...we're walking...

It's For the Birds

Spring must be coming, because in the last week suddenly all the birds in our backyard have been breaking into their spring songs. The chickadees are calling, "Sweetie! Sweeeeeee-tieeeeeee!", the cardinals are singing their loopy, drunken-sounding Three Stooges "Whoop whoop whoop!" love call, and various assorted songbirds that I can't even identify are swapping their dull winter chirps for impressive trilling sonatas and arias. Instead of a single blue jay, I can hear pairs calling back and forth - love songs or territorial warnings, I'm not sure which, but without a doubt, a sign of spring.

And of course, this also means that our birdfeeders are being visited by a constant stream of feathered friends, which Ryan absolutely loves. He often plays in his jumperoo chair in the kitchen while I'm puttering about washing dishes or making breakfast, and his attention is continually being drawn to the action at the feeders. The pert chickadees and titmice who announce their landing with a loud PEEP! The bright male cardinal who reminds us he's still there with his repeated chip chip chip. The shy woodpecker who sneaks up to the suet one hop at a time and flies away if the braver juncos cut in line. The cloud of starlings who can't quite stuff their chubby selves into the suet feeder but have to content themselves with the scraps on the ground dropped by the other birds. Ryan is enraptured by all of them.

He has no idea, of course, that spring is coming or that these songs are different from what he's heard before. To him, the birds are just something bright and moving and fun to watch and listen to. But to me, they're the hope of spring, the promise of warm weather to come, and another reminder of all the new joys and excitements that will be on their way in the coming weeks and months.