I am frustrated. It is our spring break week. Sunday and Monday we got a foot of snow, Tuesday was warm and some of it melted. It’s early Wednesday morning and freezing rain is falling. My calendar says that Thursday is the first day of spring. I have a garage full of plants, bulbs, seeds, and sets that I had planned in getting in the ground this week. But I can’t see the ground, let alone dig into it.
I’m trying to make the best if it. We’ve done some indoor work, scrubbing and sealing the log walls if the bathroom, scrubbing woodwork and walls and staining some unfinished trim in our bedroom, hanging a rug to protect the logs at the top of the stairs from the cats who have decided that literally climbing the wall is a good pastime. We’ve cooked yummy meals, baked decadent desserts, read some good magazines and finished “Drums of Autumn”, Diane Gabaldon’s fourth book of the Outlander series. I am through with trying.
I am tired of winter. I long for spring. Not a date on the calendar, but a vibrant, green, soft aired, warm sunlit, spring. I need to get out and dig, and plant, and wrestle rocks, and listen to the robins. I need to pick tender dandelion greens and the new leaves of plantain. I am crying with the frustration of what seems like an endless winter and with the deep longing for all that is spring. I want to eat on the deck again, and see does with fawns drinking from the run, and gripe about the bunnies eating my tender green garden plants. I want, no I NEED it to be spring.