Spring Shots

Our newly-planted privacy hedge of cat palms earlier this spring

Pictures of the geraniums from late March/early April. They have since grown quite large.

This and That

Kids are back to school following a week of delightful schedule-free fun. We made another trip to the beach, where my younger one body-surfed for the entire time. Watched the pelicans and toasted under the warm sun.

I intend make Wednesdays writing days. So here I sit, trying to come up with something clever and interesting for this blog. Fortunately, my wine blog doesn't need updating until the weekend.

We walked to school this morning, and my daughter pointed out the sun's rays streaming through the thin layer of early morning gray clouds. On the way home, I paused on the bridge to watch turtles poke their heads out of the canal. I'm looking forward to the day when construction ends in our neighborhood, when I can no longer hear the grinding sound of the cement trucks on our street corner.

We lived in a master-planned community with areas set aside for trees and grass. Of course, nothing can be "too wild", so I was surprised to see patches of clover growing on one of the greenspaces. I pointed it out to my daughter, saying that at evening time, cottontail rabbits would come out to nibble on it. Surely, some neighbor has complained about weeds, and soon the lawn maintenance team will come around to eradicate that pesky clover.

The oak leaves are still blooming. We have two scrawny looking ones in our backyard, and another with lacy, light green leaves. Yellow pollen dust is sprinkled all over our cars and patio furniture.

Happy Easter!

All things renew.

All things begin.

At church they bring

The lilies in.

(From John Updike's "April", A Child's Calendar, 1965, 1999)

It's the time of year when you can't predict the weather. Sunday was cool, windy and overcast; today, it has poured off and on, and we had our first tornado watch of the season. Saturday, however--glorious Saturday! Awoke to a gold and pink sunrise; spent the day on the beach, playing in the turquoise waters. The waves were rough, but the ocean was clear.

Spring breakers filled our stretch of the beach. Boys checking out girls; girls pretending indifference but slowing their gait as they passed a cluster of guys. I don't miss those days, but I sucked in my stomach when I joined my family on the water's edge.

We met a friend there, and he pointed out the paucity of seagulls. In New Hampshire, where I grew up, fat, bold seagulls steal your lunch from your beach blanket, and swoop down on boardwalk pedestrians, swiping their french fries or fried dough. Here, the few gulls I saw were scrawny and timid. I wonder if the passing pelicans (flying in perfect formation) intimidate them.

We spent the evening out, listening to reggae music on the back patio of an Irish pub. I love how the warm weather brings people out. There's a sense of lightness in the air, a sense of relief that our cool winter may have finally ended.

Schedule-less

The morning light is gorgeous today. Soft, filtered by hazy, white clouds, it streams into my backyard in a perfect rectangle, flowing over the cat palm hedge. The air is sweet with just a hint of syrupy humidity. A south Florida spring is an ephemeral treasure; summer is almost here, despite the date on the calendar.

I sip my coffee and check my basil and cilantro, rustle the leaves of the wildly expanding parsley. Last night I made homemade tomato sauce, using a half cup of the tender basil leaves.

I cut through the house to go to the front porch, stopping on the way to flip on the television for one child and open windows in the kitchen and front room. Outside, I check the pink and red geraniums in the ceramic pots--they look healthy! I remain outside only a little longer, not sure if I want my neighbors to see me in my oversized Girl Scout camp shirt and husband's sleep shorts that serve as my pajamas. Oh, but it is wonderful, this feeling of not having to rush. At this time of day, I have normally hurried the kids out the door to school then rushed home to ready myself for the gym. Not today. Instead, I linger over a cup of Green Mountain Cinnamon Spice coffee and watch the sun kiss the tops of palm fronds.

Welcome Spring Break!

Spring

March 20th marks the first day of spring, and typically, the day passes with little notice. However, after a cold winter (record cold, in fact), we celebrated the day outdoors. Mild weather had started to return to the area, although with highs only in the low 70's compared to an average of 80. Nonetheless, we opened the windows and mulched the palms; transferred the palm trees growing in large, ceramic pots on our back patio to spots in between our oaks. My husband made a run to Home Depot to select annuals; the previous weekend, I accompanied him to select fresh herbs for our pots: more basil and cilantro. The latter I've had horrible luck with, always seeming to lose it with the cold. I have hopes it will flourish, and I already I've plucked several stems and chopped its leaves into a fresh batch of guacamole.

The signs of spring are subtle in this part of the country. When we lived in Alabama, spring arrived early and softly with the magnolia trees blossoming first, then the dogwoods. All at once, flowers would bloom and noses would start to run. Much the same happened in Ohio, another of our stops, except the pear tree in the backyard commenced flowering in early April, while the massive oak simultaneously released its red buds. Here, we don't have that dramatic demarcation between winter and spring. The palms and pines remain green year-round; even the scratchy lawn stays green. The oaks, however, grow scraggly looking: their leaves turn silver and wilt, but never completely fall to the ground. Suddenly, there is a blossoming of green freshness. The leaves are that magical, radiant color, suggestive of spring, Easter and new hope. As the air grows milder, I look for these quiet signs. Spring has arrived.