This week, for the first
time in months, my driveway
was somewhat free of
snow. I spotted patches of
grass that have been lying,
frozen, under many layers
of ice and snow and ice and
snow. The pumpkin that
had been sitting at the end
of my walkway when the
first snow of the season
buried it, made its reappearance,
much worse for
wear.
People in Upstate New
York have a complex relationship
with Mother Nature
and her seasons. Summer
is like a juicy tomato
for the soul - full and sweet
and far too rare. We love it,
but we resent it a little, too
for being so beautiful, yet
so brief.
Autumn is similarly brilliant
and short. Before the
leaves have fully turned,
they’re already giving up
the ghost and lining the
streets. Just look at that
pumpkin of mine.
We are especially conflicted
about Mother Nature’s
longest season, Old
Man Winter.
He’s fun at first. He’s the
spry old elf, inviting you go
sledding the very minute
that enough clean, white
snow covers the hillsides.
He’s all jingle bells and hot
cocoa and peppermint candy.
He makes you want to
start a fire and sing ``Let It
Snow,’’ and mean it.
But by March, it’s a totally
different story.
He’s no longer the jovial,
grandfatherly figure. He’s
bony and haggard. His
beard is streaked with mud
and his fingernails are
dirty. He needs to brush his
teeth. Most of all, he needs
to crawl back to when he
came so we can forget about
him, at least for a few
months.
It’s been great, Old Man
Winter, but we’re ready for
Sister Spring to make her
appearance. We’re ready
for her to coax the electric
spires of forsythia, the tender
fingers of crocus sprouts
and the sunny-side-up faces
of daffodils.
And we’re ready for it
now.
I am a big believer in the
power of words to not only
define your wishes, but to
conjure them. When I am
longing for spring, I think
of William Blake’s words
from
``To Spring’’:
Come o’er the eastern
hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments;
let us taste
Thy morn and evening
breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land
that mourns for thee.’’
Read that last line again,
and tell me it wasn’t written
for Otsego County.
I also think of the poem
by Emily Dickenson that
reads, in part:
A Light exists in Spring
Not present in the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely
here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot
overtake
But Human Nature
feels.
I know that light. It
shines on these hills today
just as surely as it shone on
Amherst in Emily’s day.
It is impossible for me to
choose my favorite words
written about spring. I
know for certain that they
are not my own though. It’s
possible that Ranier Maria
Rilke summed up springtime
in all is glory best,
when he wrote:
``Spring has returned.á
The Earth is like a child
that knows poems.’’
Because I believe in the
tremendous power of words,
as well as the necessity for
people to gather in warm,
happy places when winter
is dragging on into what
should rightfully belong to
spring, I’m inviting you to
help celebrate Mother
Earth and usher in Sister
Spring.
Join us at 7 p.m., April
22 (that’s Earth Day) at the
Hoffman Lane Bistro for
readings to and about the
earth and springtime.
If you would like to read,
e-mail me at
VillageWordsmith@gmail.
com. You can read original
work or read your favorite
poetry or prose. Or you can
just come out to listen and
lend your voice to a chorus
beckoning the fairest (albiet
muddiest) season of them
all.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
uses her words. You
can connect with her at
www.mormindfulfamily.
wordpress.com, or e-mail
her at
VillageWordsmith@gmail.
com.
This Wonderful Life
March 5, 2009
This Wonderful Life
- This Wonderful Life
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- This Wonderful Life: I can say No, but I prefer Yes If popular culture is any indication, it seems women suffer from an epidemic inability to refuse additional responsibilities. Magazines, self-help books and therapists nationwide offer heaps of advice on how to assert oneself, draw boundaries and generally say No when asked to sign on for those things for which we have little time and less interest.
- This Wonderful Life: I wish someone had told me Disclaimer: Because my son more or less demanded that I stop using him and his life as material for my column back when he was 12 or 13, I want to make it perfectly clear to all my readers (and any legal professionals who are now retained or may be retained at some future time by aforementioned son) that this column is not about him. It’s about me. The fact that he happened to turn 21 on Saturday is mere coincidence. So help me God.
- This Wonderful Life: A view through bare branches Every morning, Bee and I stand at the end of the driveway waiting for her bus and we look up into the branches of the elm tree that arches over the drive.
- This Wonderful Life: To Posey on her fourth So here we are, on the other side of 3-years-old, and it seems we both survived it intact. It wasn’t easy, but perhaps it made us both stronger.
- This Wonderful Life: A Posey by any other name... A few weeks ago, Posey gave us all new names. Or, to be more accurate, Posey gave us all one new name. Rose.
- This Wonderful Life: Are pork chops really that good? If it seems unlikely for a vegetarian (that would be me) to own a couple of table- bound pigs, it probably seems downright absurd that their names should be Tender and Delicious.
- This Wonderful Life: I sssssseeeeeee you there The first thing you should know is that I used to suffer from a snake phobia. The operative word there is phobia. It wasn’t just a matter of disliking snakes. It wasn’t a fear of being bitten. It wasn’t a simple reluctance to touch their impossibly dry, nimble bodies.
- This Wonderful Life: What’s so funny? My kids, I hope In my experience as a three-time parent, there is something absolutely, spiritually magical about the first time your child cracks a joke.
- This Wonderful Life: Who are these little girls? There are two children in my house who bear a striking resemblance to my daughters. They are adorable, smart and energetic.
- This Wonderful Life: A harvest that’s good for the soul Signs of harvest are all around. The afternoon sun glows amber over the fields and the farm stands are filled to overflowing with vegetables and fruit. We’re lucky to live in a place where we can have such an immediate connection to the food we eat.
- More This Wonderful Life Headlines
