To the Editor:
I have never taken the annual spring renewal pageant for granted. Every March my heart soars at my first sighting of the neighborhood osprey. But this year, against the grimy canvas of the pandemic that is destroying lives, livelihoods, and spirits, I am profoundly, outrageously grateful for this year’s signs of regeneration of the natural world. Evidence?
- I am watching every single daffodil unfurl petal by petal;
- I actually noted the date (March 21) that the first pair of robins appeared in my yard;
- I am watching for ducklings on our pond as if I am to be the grandmother;
- On my (almost) daily walk, I stop and chat with Arnie Fischer’s cows at the corner of the fence along Short Cove path.
As I walk along the edge of the woods, I think I see that haze of delicate new green reliably coming out on the viburnums and shadbush. Up the hill my neighbor Valerie and I wave to each other as usual, she in her vegetable patch, I in mine; but there is a heightened joy in our greeting, and we both know why. Robust clumps and rows of sorrel, chives, and garlic have popped up as if nothing were amiss. If I really squint, I think I might even see a tiny asparagus tip emerging. Along the driveway the hellebores have been blooming since well before we’d heard of the coronavirus, and they’ve never missed a beat. Surely, the Cornus mas is brighter than it’s ever been, and the forsythia can barely contain itself. Up by the barn are two young deer, full of my rhododendron leaves and the three little hollies I planted last fall, but looking for more. They stare at me round-eyed — you know the look, like, “What crisis?”
Blessedly, spring is undaunted.