With all the escalating news and all the twist and turns around our jobs, kids’ schedules, our lifestyle and the entire economy, it’s easy to forget that, in our gardens, a whole entire new season is quietly brewing and slowly emerging, about to burst into a riot of colors, scents and indescribable beauty.
I am amazed and humbled every early March, a lot of times February, by the brave little crocus showing up in full color, delicate, and perfect in their tininess, pure and unapologetic, nor proud. Especially when they pop their beauty above snow, gorgeous and carefree against frost and frigid winds, there for whoever or no one to see them, it makes you wonder… are they aware how humbling that is for humans? Who of us is capable of standing up so fragile, vulnerable, so carefree and giving in the midst of winter and look so gorgeous in the process?
Or hellebore - grand dames of winter gardens - so poised and elegant. The rosemary has been standing there all along, green and fragrant - just in case you need it, and the sage, wilting a little, but still there, with so much to give. Other herbs start sprouting their leaves - oregano, parsley, and the chives are taller by the inch. As you pass, or lean to touch the fresh green, short whiffs of herbs mix with the smell of the earth and you just have to dig your hands in the soil - the full signal of spring.
A few days ago, the daffodils were coming up all green, with barely a tinge of yellow in the slim buds. What a shock to see so many in bloom today, already double height, their sway as legendary as once portrayed by poets - and little do they know or care about that… Last week, one hyacinth bud was barely out of the soil, it’s tight geometric perfection giving away a hint of pink. This evening, three of them standing tall, still opening and growing, fragile and unformed, still gathering their pink together. The irises are sending their swords up, the columbine’s delicate leaves have been silently confronting February, the strawberries are sending off their offsprings underground in all directions, lupines grow their clusters with decorum.
What a gift!
Never the smell of parsley and its baby sprigs were more enchanting. The garlic and oregano are throwing all their might in every tiny leaf, - each, a powerhouse of beneficial engines running high, pushing to grow. Add to this the general non-stop chirping, the tiny buds of growing colors on the trees and the clouds moving at speed only God knows where, and you completely forget of crisis, of all our human limitations and made-up solutions that only take us that far…
When every day, right in our face, we see and hear the lesson: life is more beautiful without all those agendas and our little ulterior motives; just live and be happy, enjoy what’s around us, forget repeating ourselves how we’re mastering nature and universe - we’re not, we never did, we are just part of it. And we should be grateful to learn from all our fellow living things in the garden how to be simple, and ourselves, and simply give the best we can, ideally - unconditionally.
I am amazed and humbled every early March, a lot of times February, by the brave little crocus showing up in full color, delicate, and perfect in their tininess, pure and unapologetic, nor proud. Especially when they pop their beauty above snow, gorgeous and carefree against frost and frigid winds, there for whoever or no one to see them, it makes you wonder… are they aware how humbling that is for humans? Who of us is capable of standing up so fragile, vulnerable, so carefree and giving in the midst of winter and look so gorgeous in the process?
Or hellebore - grand dames of winter gardens - so poised and elegant. The rosemary has been standing there all along, green and fragrant - just in case you need it, and the sage, wilting a little, but still there, with so much to give. Other herbs start sprouting their leaves - oregano, parsley, and the chives are taller by the inch. As you pass, or lean to touch the fresh green, short whiffs of herbs mix with the smell of the earth and you just have to dig your hands in the soil - the full signal of spring.
A few days ago, the daffodils were coming up all green, with barely a tinge of yellow in the slim buds. What a shock to see so many in bloom today, already double height, their sway as legendary as once portrayed by poets - and little do they know or care about that… Last week, one hyacinth bud was barely out of the soil, it’s tight geometric perfection giving away a hint of pink. This evening, three of them standing tall, still opening and growing, fragile and unformed, still gathering their pink together. The irises are sending their swords up, the columbine’s delicate leaves have been silently confronting February, the strawberries are sending off their offsprings underground in all directions, lupines grow their clusters with decorum.
What a gift!
Never the smell of parsley and its baby sprigs were more enchanting. The garlic and oregano are throwing all their might in every tiny leaf, - each, a powerhouse of beneficial engines running high, pushing to grow. Add to this the general non-stop chirping, the tiny buds of growing colors on the trees and the clouds moving at speed only God knows where, and you completely forget of crisis, of all our human limitations and made-up solutions that only take us that far…
When every day, right in our face, we see and hear the lesson: life is more beautiful without all those agendas and our little ulterior motives; just live and be happy, enjoy what’s around us, forget repeating ourselves how we’re mastering nature and universe - we’re not, we never did, we are just part of it. And we should be grateful to learn from all our fellow living things in the garden how to be simple, and ourselves, and simply give the best we can, ideally - unconditionally.
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