Yesterday, I seemed to have sprained something in my right wrist. Try as I might, in January and February, I get a bit out of shape, and there are the inevitable sore and tired muscles in March. But the plus side is that activity is a big part of how I deal with gloom. The utter depths of seasonal gloom for me tend to be in the first two months of the year. Sorry, I don’t spring into action with a smile on my face and a song in my heart when a blizzard strikes. My main winter accommodation to the New England climate was snowshoeing, but advancing arthritis has made that pleasure difficult. So the height of the snowy season and I are estranged.
When the frosts start yielding to the sun, I begin to revive. It’s time to make maple syrup. Clean the garden areas. Rake, and start daily walks in my tiny wooded garden area. And look for the earliest of our native wildflowers.
While acknowledging an appreciation for Pi Day and the leprechauns that pop up around Saint Patrick’s Day, I’m out there looking for the bronze and green leaves of the trout lily or the wooly leaves and white flowers of bloodroot (sanguinaria). This year, as of yesterday morning, only a small leaf of a columbine had emerged.
Every day, I’ll be out cleaning, getting garden beds ready, and picking up broken branches from our last ice storm. Then, I’ll take a break and go wildflower hunting. I like it when I’m surprised and find something I haven’t planted. That quarter of our lot is an environmental restoration project, and it’s nice when nature takes an unaided part in the restoration
This is how I break the gloom of winter just before true spring launches. While living in Maine I heard this season described as “stick season”. But people I knew also called it “traitor spring”, because it was so variable and untrustworthy. I try to keep that sentiment in mind because it’s too easy on a day that turns warm to forget that the season still has some punch in it.
With my years living here, I’ve turned into a cranky Yankee. I have a bit of contempt for those who wait until April to get going. But the truth is I need this pre-spring; it’s the therapy that resolves the blues of winter.
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Nice post 🌅🌅
My favorite walk last year was on St. Patrick’s day. It was too nasty for normal people and the cranes were not hanging out where they were supposed to. The only people out at the Refuge were from China. The conversation was beautiful and the music that day? All Irish. I loved it. ☘️
Even though I grew up in snowy Buffalo, I have no desire to ever live up in the northeast again. Unlike my Mom, who would never move south
Like your Mom, I will never move south, even though I curse our lousy winters.