On embracing (the actual) spring
Or, saying a holy yes to bitter winds and budding tulips
Hello, friends. Welcome to my (late) March newsletter, For the Noticers. I’m so glad you’re here. After concluding our recent series on Wendell Berry, I’m thinking about spring in all its paradoxical glory…
Last Friday, I woke to grey skies and driving rain—not for the first time recently. I grumbled as I puttered around my apartment, making morning tea, weighing whether or not to get out for a run (I eventually did).
Since then, we’ve had several more foggy, rainy mornings; a few days of bright, glorious sunshine; and one unwelcome shower of tiny, granular snowflakes, which collected in the cracks of the sidewalks but melted within the hour.
As my favorite weather guy reminded us recently: This is spring, people! Embrace it!
I listen to Dave’s brief Weather Wisdom podcast every morning. I’ve been following his forecasts since that infamous winter of 2015, when Boston logged 110 inches of snow (not a typo; that’s slightly more than nine feet). We spent weeks digging out of snowbanks that refused to melt. My then-husband dubbed Dave “the MVP of winter” that year, and I’ve been reading/listening to his wise, practical predictions ever since.
Besides being a forecaster, Dave is a gardener (and a native New Englander, so he’s admittedly a bit hardier than I am). His point, on that recent podcast, was that spring is made up of this wide range of weather: New England spring includes biting winds, pop-up showers and (occasional) snow, alongside gorgeous mild days and longer evenings. The showers that blow in over the harbor, or the fog that sometimes obscures my view of the skyline, are as much a part of spring as the neon-yellow witch hazel, the madly chirping robins, or the vivid purple crocuses whose wee faces are a welcome sight around town.
My word for this year is wholeness, and while that admittedly seems a bit vague, it stems from a desire to embrace my life as it is: not to wish away or avoid the hard parts, but to accept the frustrations and challenges along with the joys (while also working to solve certain problems). Dave’s podcast reminded me that wholeness applies to seasons, too, and that the way to enjoy this spring is to accept the season we’re having, not the ideal one I’ve created in my mind.
Spring is a kaleidoscope around here: fuzzy gray-green magnolia buds and blustery, blue-skied mornings; slender stems punctuated with cheery daffodils, pushing up through leaf litter left over from the fall. It’s tulip stems sprouting up, fresh and green, and then getting a bit frostbitten on their edges. It’s ice-edged puddles on the greenway and wisps of fog over the harbor.
Spring is the gradual, subtle shift in the sunsets from winter pink and orange toward summer blue and gold, moving through a range of colors—celadon, cerulean, cobalt, tangerine. (Can you tell I especially loved the “color” page in my fat red Roget’s Thesaurus as a preteen?)
Spring is pausing to listen to a chorus of birds—robins, sparrows, gulls, screeching jays, starlings—on my evening walks. It’s dusting off my bright pink bike for a quick ride, and also wrapping up with a thicker scarf. It’s curling up on the couch barefoot, but snuggled in a cozy zip-up fleece or hoodie.
These contrasts—even contradictions—are what make up spring here, as much as the cherry blossoms and vivid tulips I adore.
Ever since I read Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones, years ago, I have carried her words about wholeness in my own bones. Natalie insists that “a writer must say yes to life, to all of life: the water glasses, the Kemp’s half-and-half, the ketchup on the counter.” These small, mundane details are our days, as are the people we interact with, and the experiences we share. Not all of it, on any level, will be sunshine; some of it is frustrating or maddening or just plain banal. But it all counts; it all matters. All of spring – and by extension, all of life – helps make up the whole.
You don’t need me to tell you about the distressing headlines right now: the people being detained and deported for no reason, the repeated efforts of our current government to tear down so many good and beautiful (and effective) parts of our society. I have no real answers for any of it, and I often feel powerless, anxious and angry, not to mention deeply sad.
I am under no illusion that embracing the brisk spring winds (or rejoicing at fat magnolia buds and cheeky robins) will preserve our national parks or save our beleaguered democracy, on its own. But I do have to believe – as always – that paying attention still matters.
Natalie urges writers and artists to “say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist – the real truth of who we are.” She adds that being people who “love the details and step forward with a yes on our lips” is an important part of fighting evil in the world: combating bombs “with their mass ability to kill, against too much speed and efficiency.” Embracing our lives, just as they are, can be a powerful force for good. And we need more of that right now than ever.
Happy spring, friends. I wish for beauty in the contradictions for you – and a dose of stubborn hope, too.
Reading: Maggie Smith’s red-pen pep talk on WBUR. Sarah Bessey on stewarding our anger. Beth Silvers’ fantastic list of wisdom at age 44. And my friend Louise Miller on springtime, attention and hope.
Loving: teeny tiny daffodils and budding trees. My coziest hoodies and fleeces. Unplanned encounters with my neighbors. Cheery stickers on my travel mugs, my laptop, my brand-new journal. A night of salsa dancing (and long-wearing red lipstick). And a recent weeknight excursion to the South End.