The weather was so strange this spring, people ran out of ways to talk about it, but that didn’t stop the words, words, words about winter hanging on, spring being lost, the download for spring being unavailable at this time, mother Nature has fallen asleep, etc. My favorite creative grumble which I borrowed and used a few times was- “Is it just me, or does it feel like it’s January the 96th?"
By the time I planted onions it was January the 114th. It’s been a long winter. We saw snow here in central PA three times...in APRIL. (Wait, four.) We had the saplin’ bender and the onion snow. Twice. I gave up on not grumbling and resorted to apologizing and then grumbling.
I got busy preparing the soil. I hoed and raked and swept maple seeds, and for a little bit, I didn’t think about a sweatshirt. But something changed in the air midafternoon, and I retreated to the house to warm up. Brrr. Only with much urging could I convince myself to pull on my warmest sweatshirt and head back out the door. Those onion sets were still waiting. I knew it was going to rain, so...
I finished one short row, and it wasn’t raining. And, I had a lot of onion sets.
I kept planting until the bag was empty. I tried to tidy the bed a bit and patted the soil around my project. The whole business looked rather pitiful, and I was still chilly, but something inside of me had warmed a bit.
Days passed. Today, it's January 142nd, but no one talks like that anymore. The orchard trees are blooming lavishly, lambs are scampering on the hillsides, and all my favorite migratory birds are back.
Spring has come to the 'Shire, and I'm seeing green.
Hills, pastures, mountains, maples.
Oh, and onions. Those once-straggly shoots are flourishing, green and tall.
Plant the onions. Spring always comes.