A Seasonal Anthology Spring’s Reward

As I write this it’s officially the first day of Spring, September 1st. 

It’s been an unusually wet winter so much of what’s happening outside in the garden doesn’t seem to match its seasonally appropriate behaviour. But who can, or who would try to tame a garden. Endowed with a body and mind of its own nature knows how to act, and interact with the changing weather patterns and disturbances of the climate as we are all experiencing.

The hardy have been able to ward off the excess water that fills their beds and have somehow managed to keep themselves dry inside their husked coats. These will emerge, one bud and then leaf at a time and will certainly produce the fruit that is hardwired into their makeup. Others, not so lucky, will disintegrate into the ground, providing a little nourishment to the soil around them. Nothing is wasted and the remnants of their goodness will be shared with the others who are more fortunate. I’m not sure what you are imagining while you read, but in my mind's eye I picture bulbs, laying dormant for cold weeks in the damp darkness waiting for the hope of spring's warmth that will entice them out of their sleep and into the light of day. 

I take all of my cues from nature when it comes to the change in season. But this year I’m struggling to nail down the usual signs in the garden, albeit there has been a flurry of activity amongst the resident blackbird families who nest in our trees and forage in the garden. Perhaps they are the heralds of this next season that is trying its best to chase winter into the northern hemisphere.

Yet Spring is arriving with warming temperatures and signs of new life that are beginning to bud on my heavily winter pruned plants. I’m always so awed with the wonder of this reincarnation. Over the years, as a hopeful gardener I’ve learned to trust nature’s inherent wisdom, and where once I would sheepishly trim a few ends off bushes during pruning season, now I’m no longer shy, taking them back to what almost feels like the equivalent of a number one haircut, the closest shave I can manage.

To trust natures’ wisdom and this rigorous process, and then to reap her gifts I see as Spring's reward.

Springtime is a resurrection! It’s a heralding of the new to come with its unexpected emerging and surprising gifts. A stroll around a garden, yours, your neighbourhoods, or the green fields that are providing food for lambs at Cornwall Park; there you will spot her presence, our wonderful Mother, Papatūānuku busy feeding our senses and nourishing our soul..

I’ll let Mary Oliver have the final word -

Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible