Springtime Symphony

I'm not sure what it is about the first warm sunny weekends of the spring that leave such a vivid impression on me.  There are certain characteristics that are present every year, a consistent set of ingredients that produce this springtime symphony.  The blue sky, and warm sun.  A coolness to the breeze that reminds me that it isn't quite summer yet.  The birds chirping and lawnmowers humming together in a flowing chorus.  The occasional throaty rumble of a motorcycle, and eclectic playlist compiled from each passing car's stereo.  And that amazing barbecue smell that drifts on the breeze when everyone realizes it's the perfect day to grill.

I can remember weekends like this from when I was young, and my father would be tilling the soil, and planting the garden.  He would work hard and long until his skin was dusted with dirt and beads of sweat were gathered on his brow.  I was eager enough to help, but never accomplished much before my attention wandered and I was on to the next thing.  I don't think I ever really understood why he worked so hard on what looked like a whole mess of trouble just so that we could have a garden.

Now I get it.  Sure, the sugar snap peas, cucumbers, and endless tomatoes are reason enough.  But they aren't the reason.  There's a certain satisfaction to a day spent sowing seeds and moving earth.  To feeling your muscles work and stretch, and working up a sweat.  When you step back to survey at the end of an afternoon of weeding and confirm that every last weed has been evicted and your little plot has never looked better.  It's all therapeutic, cathartic, even meditative.

Maybe someday Milani will want to help.  Maybe her attention span will only last three minutes before she's off on the next adventure.  Just to be able to look up and find her playing in the yard is lovely enough. 

 

To observe as she goes from one ball to the next;

And then on to the fence;

 

To hanging with dad;

And back to watching me.  Her spirit is radiant and her presence invigorating.

And after a weekend spent both working and playing hard, nothing feels better than collapsing into a cozy nap.

Now our weekend is over, and the sun is hidden, but the traces of dirt still under my fingernails are evidence of the afternoons spent in the yard.  We will survive the coming string of chilly wet days by anticipating our next weekend in the sun.

Happy Monday!