This was a reflection posted on an e-list over a year ago by a very dear friend. I think it is “old” enough from an electronic point of view to publish here. Besides, she gave permission for it to be posted on various lists and other places.
This morning as I was up on the hill behind the house investigating why my chickens were making such a racket (a squirrel had gotten into their feeding station); when I was aware of a brief, warm, whif of privet blossoms and honeysuckle–the first of this year. Immediately I was awash with relief and a sudden relaxation. After the turmoils of the past year and half, after the hard winter and the late freeze that killed back many plants and this year’s crops, I felt the promise of Spring. I thought to myself that finally, Spring really is here–the new growth and promise of the future. After the late freeze kill-off, I had reconciled myself to a barren Summer and harvest this year, and I had slipped into a brownness of mind that I didn’t know was there; but this brief whif of sweetness told me that the promise is still there. It’s in the wild plum tree laden with unexpected fruit that we found that we didn’t know was there. It’s in the summer flowers still to bloom. It’s in the Japanese Persimmons that will fruit later this Summer. It’s in the killed-back fig tree that is never the less struggling to put out new growth, hoping for fruit maybe in a couple more years. It’s in the lone surviving calomondin fruit left on the tree, and the tiny new blossoms on the trifoliate orange trees. It’s in the tiny, green buds that may become strawberries if they weren’t blighted to much from the frost. It’s in the new coming fruit of the wild blackberries, some still blooming even as late as it is.
I remembered my mother always saying, “We can’t have flowers without rain,” and my grandmother saying, “After the winter, Spring comes.” I think I know more of what they were trying to say to me now. I’ve lived in large cities most of my life, so I have a “big city” mentality, even though I’ve lived here in the woods for the past ten years. In the big city, we know hurry, and deadlines, and cement, and air pollution. We seldom, if ever, notice the change of seasons, except to know when to get out our coats and sweaters and when to put them away. That’s all the seasonal change meant to me as a city dweller. Here, I am given the gift of a quiet, sweet, constant reminder that God is in charge; and He will take care of everything.
All I can say is, “Many Thanks to you, SB!!”