To the Editor:
Looking out my kitchen window at the field across the way belonging to Morning Glory farm, I am watching the tractor pulling the attached seat for the two kids planting their crop, one by one by one. The air is breezy. The dust kicks up around them. Each plant is carefully and methodically placed. The driver stops and starts as needed. The sun is vibrant and glistening, and then, on go the sprinklers.
Another feast for the eyes of light playing on light. Of the wet water crystals sparkling like diamonds in the sun. The sprinklers sway back and forth, as does the light. I am home. I have my view and the re-booting of my senses, after a long winter down south.
How much we accept and relish fresh air. How much the smell of the change of seasons can be so basic, yet so special, when down south, the air is either humid or air-conditioned. The longing for fresh air is a constant. So, disembarking from the plane, I stand outside the terminal and just breathe and breathe and breathe.
One day, driving with a friend of mine since kindergarten, we heard of the winter blizzard, and we both said, “How we miss the seasons, the snow, the days and nights blanketing before a fireplace, or just the fresh air of winter.” And, “If we catch the next plane out tonight, we could be home in time for the blizzard” – she to Maine, me to the Vineyard. We laughed and cranked up the air conditioning.
Now it is spring. The pollen has finally left the environs. The windows and doors are wide open. The air is spectacular. The skies are stunningly blue, sharp with color. The ocean is warming up. The dunes have changed with every storm. Rain pounds the skylights. Flowers are everywhere, bursting out of their winter sleep. And, across the road in the Morning Glory field, the re-planting of our food or flowers is a view I wait for all winter long.