In Spite of It All, Springtime

An early spring comes as a welcome surprise in St. Louis. The past few years have seen cold, rainy winters that stretched deep into April, even into May.

And this year more than ever, we need the welcome color of the greening grass, the fragrant whisper of early flowers. The past weeks have brought nothing but sickening uncertainty for humanity as COVID-19 shuts down city streets, cuts off income, and takes lives.  We hunker down inside with our cellphones and frozen vegetables, but there is nothing more we can do.

There is freedom, though, in realizing that you are doing all you can–the freedom to let go of the rest. To step away from the constant sick count updates and to bake a loaf of bread. To slow your anxious heartbeat and to read a book.  And the freedom to step outside and take a walk and to see, in spite of it all, the fresh breath of springtime.

Already the magnolias and cherry blossoms are in flower, and many will peak this week. Daffodils sprout up in sunny bunches. Crocus, squill, and hellebores are in full bloom. The smell of hyacinths skips on the wind. Birdcalls we haven’t heard in months sound from treetops in the early morning light, and the sun sets later and later in the evenings. The buds that promise summer’s leaves nod in the breeze. Around them, our routines, our jobs, our systems all crumble. But new life marches on: the mourning dove now building her nest; a forecast full of life-giving rain; and the delicate petals of a tulip, just unfolding–each of these is a sweet promise for the dawn of a new morning.

First Signs

Winter’s still got a pretty tight grip on St. Louis for now, but there are signs everywhere that the thick of it has passed and we are on our way towards springtime. This year there’s even hope for an early one. Some of the signs that are popping up now aren’t unique to this particular year–the furry buds of the magnolia tree, the sunlight slowly stretching into the evening hours…

But some of what’s happening now isn’t always around this early. Green shoots have already broken through the soil of bulb gardens. Delicate snowdrops bloomed weeks ago, looking like little white bells on their stems. They hang their heads on cold days but perk back up with the touch of sunlight. Purple and yellow crocus dot the still-brown grass. Red-winged blackbirds have already appeared in St. Louis, making their migratory journey a little bit earlier this year. The groundhog predicted an early spring, too, and after a few days of single-digit temperatures, it’s feeling like a good year to be superstitious.

The Tease

What a relief it was this weekend to recall what a warm day feels like. The wet smell of a living, thawing earth had everyone acting like it’s early May. Every sidewalk had its runners. Cyclists wore short sleeves. Daydreams of springtime took shape at the seed stand at Home Depot, where a miniature crowd had gathered to size up the vegetable options. Even the birds, perhaps smelling that same thaw, sang with optimism.

Every winter we get a a sensational pop of warmth out of nowhere. Every winter, no matter how many years it’s turned out to be dead-wrong in the past, people catch that glimpse of sunshine and start predicting an early spring. And when you’re outside in a single layer of clothes for the first time in months, warm and sunny and light as a feather, you’re convinced. The warmth is on its way. It must be.

It’s a dream that rarely comes true. Anyone who got out and tried to get some yard work done this weekend can tell you that the ground is still frozen totally solid at just an inch or so deep. There are dip-downs to the teens and twenties on their way, and chances of snow pepper the forecast.

But there’s no reason to be depressed about winter continuing. After all, January has hardly even been put to bed. A winter that ended this early would disturb the animals who are still trying to get some rest. It would call out too early to the seeds brewing underground, waiting for the sign to push their way up. No, for now we just have to be patient, and to understand that winter is not opposed to life, but part of the cycle of life itself.