we think of spring as the time to sow seeds. but spring is also reaping season. all those seeds that dropped from trees, and seedheads, and fruits, and berries, and pods, and bracts, are sprouting now. nature is reaping the reward of all that work last summer and fall. the newborn baby, after 9 months, is both the fruit, and the harvest.
wisteria seed pods
st. paul, minnesota
summer, fall, and winter in minnesota all wake up on time. when june, and september, and december arrive, their respective seasons are up and dressed and ready to go. it seems that spring in minnesota is the only late sleeper. the alarm keeps going off, and spring just keeps hitting snooze. as of a couple of days ago, it appears it might just be rolling over in bed, and maybe squinting a little, into the late morning light through the window.
turtle lake, saint paul, minnesota
last night i spent the night with friends who’ve been friends since high school. we talked until a little too late, and had a little too much wine, and shared a little too much. five of us. all still married to our first husbands. all middle children. all with reasonable expectations about life. we’re not spectacular. but you put us in a circle together, and it’s still beautiful.
bits and pieces of dried flora
we have been home from france for two months. for the most part, i am avoiding the world, especially the daily news. i have felt burned out by the election and its aftermath to be sure, but more so by the ubiquitous american tendency to hustle and overwork. a northern, anglo-saxon urge that has always been a part of me, but that i was able to shed, temporarily, among our sane, latin, mediterranean neighbors over the last several months of last year. like this elderberry, i feel ready to come out of my period of dormancy. but like this elderberry, the fruits of my re-emergence may contain a low level of toxicity.
red elderberry bud
saint paul, minnesota
certain plants say a lot about the places they come from, and by extension, a lot about the people who come from those places. if you say “birch,” can you think of anyplace other than a northern forest, with some tall and hearty looking human specimens moving briskly through them? possibly on skis or snowshoes? so when i say “olive tree,” where do those snowshoes go? and where to those pale, blond nordic giants go? well, they shrink by about half a foot. and their hair turns black. and they ditch those skis. and they probably lie down in the shade of the olive tree because it’s pretty hot in the sun, and because life is meant to be enjoyed in the form of moments like these, in the shade of olive trees.
olive branch with fruits