There is a particular brand of joy that is unique to the truly Northern segments of this great country (no, Washington, you don’t count). It doesn’t take much to stir the beginnings of this unique subset of joy… you feel it coming on (a bit like when you know you’ve started to blush) when the snow melts and the daylight sticks around later and later into the evening, but still it’s not quite there yet.
It doesn’t ever fully arrive until proof of life reasserts itself. Then it washes over you and fills you with a giddiness most closely related to Christmas morning as a child. Its frenetic and fleeting, but rife with promise and bursting with unbidden excitement.
Here, it is always the first tender-yet-remarkably-strong tops of daffodil leaves emerging out of the desiccated and dead remnants of last year’s lawn.
This year’s elation arrived Friday afternoon via text message and a picture from Rich while I was at work. Once I arrived home we did a slow and careful assessment of all the daffodil areas to see just how elated we should be.
Turns out we were launched straight into that prized subset of joy!
It does feel like we’ve pushed the pedal to the floorboard and are rushing head-long and hell-bent into Spring. I am not at all sad about this rapid transition into this new growing season!
Even more happily, as we were trotting back up to the house with the dogs, I glanced back to the garden and my eyes caught a flash of pink in the Veg Garden.
Could it be?
You can clearly see that its been too chilly, windy, and still damp to get out and clean things up yet. That will come this weekend, out of necessity and regardless of the weather. It seems that the first signs of spring (including Robins and the lofty calls of Sandhill Cranes) have snuck up on us and I couldn’t be more relieved.