Meredith
Apr 132011
PDF Apr 112011
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
~ Robert Frost
American Buckeye (Aesculus glabra) flowers with the characteristic long stamens.
It’s that time again.
Time for the most beautiful color imaginable: the golden green of spring. For me, it is the color of joy, the color of wonder.
The color of the world just waking up from a long sleep.
Looks like a squirrel silhouetted within the sun-kissed canopy, anxiously looking down at me. But it's actually a tumble of last year's dead leaves.
Of course, it’s also the color of impermanence.
If you don’t take the time out of your busy life to notice it now, before you know it you’ll have missed your chance.
That window is so brief, it astonishes me every year. Several plants didn’t make it into this post — and all because I lifted the camera to my eye a little too slowly.
One of my favorite Japanese maples at the SC Botanical Garden.
On the other hand, I took so many pictures of this Japanese maple, admiring it from every angle, that a gardener at the South Carolina Botanical Garden came over to tell me where I might buy one for my own garden.
Some things, you must make time for, no matter what.
'Yugoslavian Red Butterhead' in a pot on the back porch.
Like spring salads. Oh, they are delicious. And I have a new favorite lettuce for beauty, ‘Yugoslavian Red Butterhead.’ None of the seeds came up in late winter and fall, and I was rather disappointed. But they were only waiting until mid-January to germinate. It seems they thrive in the cold.
Once again, everything has its season.
I am so grateful that the weather held cool for as long as it did, extending our harvests. We even have a few spinach plants left, those grown in the lee of the house, protected from the midday sun. It’s delightful to have fresh spinach in April. Spinach, of course, is another one of those plants that whisper “impermanence,” at least in this climate.
Plant breeders work to hold onto that gold as long as possible, as they've done with this magnificent hosta.
Some of us just don’t want to let go when it’s time, though. Well, I certainly don’t. So I can understand the plant breeders who were determined to capture spring’s gold and bottle it up inside the tenderly veined foliage of this Hosta.
It’s not quite as poignant for me, though. Somehow the color loses its power when I know it’s going to stick around all summer. So… is that what gives this golden-green of spring its emotional punch? It’s not merely a visual sensation, but the recognition of the inexorable passage of time.
It makes me more aware than ever of how much I want to join the dance, and how grateful I am to be a part of it whenever I do, how I know that I belong here, nestled in the heart of the amazing whirl of the natural cycle.
The truth is, I am always a part of it whether I surrender to the joy of it or resist it stubbornly every step of the way. And I have done that recently, too, alternately dragging my feet and stomping them furiously. Grief has its own cycle.
I guess that’s the thing with impermanence — and with life: you get the whole deal, whether you like it or not. Joy and wonder, birth and second chances, discovery and beauty, yes. But also: heartbreak and weeping, darkness and goodbye, mortality and the bitter cold.
Today the Earth is holding out her hand, and I am ready to dance again.
Closeup of Buckeye leaves unfurling from a branch.
That is worth more to me than all the gold in existence.
Namasté, y’all.
Apr 092011
In case you couldn’t tell, things are really busy here.
Just three days from now, F.’s Ph.D. defense will take place. Now, I’m not the one preparing for the defense (thank goodness), but I am taking up the slack for F. in the many areas of life he’s had to ignore in order to sustain a single-minded focus on this extremely important task. After all, it’s not every day that you present the culmination of six years of effort in your chosen field — and all in less than three hours.
So it’s a busy time.
Not to mention that it’s spring planting time, and yes, I’m working in the garden every chance I get because F. got a post-doc at the University that will take us all the way through the growing season!
Wonderful news, no?
I had already decided to go ahead with the garden before we got the news. The possibility of a wasted season seemed more painful to me than having to leave the bounty and beauty behind in full swing.
Besides, I’d already seen bees, butterflies, and birds returning to my virtually empty garden so early and in such numbers, almost as if they were confident, after only a couple of years, that the now-dormant landscape would soon be filled to overflowing with sustenance and opportunity. How could I disappoint them?
But since I lingered over the decision so long, I’m getting a late start on clearing the beds, weeding, adding compost, starting seedlings, transplanting, and all the rest of it. The weather has generally not been cooperative, either, with lots of rainstorms that keep me from working in my soil for days afterward (too much experience now of the disaster that results from disturbing waterlogged red clay).
So busy is the word of the day.
Also, I’m still tutoring, and M. is absolutely blossoming now, growing daily in an appreciation for her own mind and capabilities. Something *clicked* in the last two months, and her progress has been astonishing. In the most recent quarterly report, she was placed on the A/B honor roll for the first time in her life, and her joy knew no bounds. I feel privileged to be a part of her intellectual awakening.
I’ve recently become aware of just how much need there is in this community, how very many are subject to the twin disadvantages of ignorance and poverty. Of course, now I’m covetously eyeing the area’s population of imported senior citizens. So many well-educated retirees choose to come here to enjoy the natural beauty and outdoor sports the region affords, and in my daydream vision, at least, hordes of them are signing up to personally tutor a local youngster who needs that one-on-one attention and guidance to thrive in school — and in life.
For now, it’s just a kernel of an idea, a glint in my eye. I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.
Other ideas are doing more than glinting in my eye, which is one reason blogging has become difficult. I’m writing, and I find it difficult — even daunting sometimes — to switch back and forth between the longer essay format and the short and much more informal blog format. I’ve scrapped more than a few blog drafts over the last six weeks, until I finally decided to recognize my limitations.
An occasional post is all I’ll be able to manage for now, and I probably won’t have time to visit other blogs regularly or even respond to comments as I usually do. I feel guilty about that part. But still, I want to keep blogging — in a way that’s manageable given current circumstances. That may mean posts with more images and fewer words, for instance.
A big thank you to all of you who are still checking in, still looking and reading, and especially to those of you who’ve sent me thoughtful messages over the past six weeks. I’m touched that you keep me in your thoughts and that you’ve enjoyed The Enchanted Earth enough in the past to want it to keep going. I hope I’ll be able to bring it back to full strength one day soon.
Meanwhile, I wish you the joy of spring, wherever you are, in whatever season.
Namasté, y’all.
