Each season has a purpose.
Depending on where you live and for all intents and purposes, summer is a lazy time. It is a time to enjoy the outdoors, and the scorched-by-the-sun flowers. It is a time to bake in the sun until your skin turns leathery. The tanning years follow additional years of money spent on skin repair or sun-induced health issues.
A few months ago, this writer bumped into a former coworker getting a facial. The rows of deep furrows etched in the lady’s face were a testament to years of tanning. At this point, the only option was plastic surgery instead of regular facials.
If you live in a toasty place like Texas, then you either sweat gallons of dew or retreat to air-conditioned comfort, your best friend for the summer.
With fall comes a slight respite from summer’s heat along with the spectacular color display Mother Nature puts on. Then the trees shed their leaves, the frequency of mowing the lawn eases off. These are gentle reminders of the dead time ahead.
Winter is a dormant time for the earth, a short period of death. It reminds us how much we dislike the discomfort of cold weather, the drudgery and pain in the posterior of winter-related chores.
Spring makes the soul sing — a time of rebirth.
What is the definitive sign of spring for you?
Robins invading your yard, indiscriminately leaving droppings on everything while nibbling bird seeds out of the birdfeeder you so thoughtfully keep filled? Lush green weeds multiplying in your lawn before the grass wakes up to do its job? The trees putting on a breathtaking display by leafing out or covered in flowers? Ask a handful of people, and you may get as many answers.
But there are other indicators as well.
In the garden department of the big box stores, there is a flurry of activity. Mulch and other gardening supplies tower over the shoppers as they take advantage of enticing sales. But the best part is the siren song of flowers, bushes, and trees waiting for you to buy and plant in your yard.
After the rollercoaster ride of winter, the moment the sun peeks out from behind the clouds for even a short amount of time, the urge to plant grips the gardener’s soul. That is why the parking lot of the wholesale nursery on the nearby highway is suddenly packed. Folks are more than ready to dive into the actual rite of spring. Planting.
The avid gardener happily invests in plants, seeds, or seedlings and hauls it all home to spruce up the yard. More often than not, Hubby’s response to the endless pots of plants this writer would unload from the car or truck was a mumbled: “I suppose you need help planting all those.”
“No. I’ll do the planting after you dig the necessary holes because you love me.”
As you may have guessed, for this writer there is one nearly addictive sign of Spring — the urge to fill the flower garden with all kinds of flowers. The hours spent crawling around digging and pulling out weeds followed by planting are one of the few times she can relax. There is something cathartic about the entire process.
Did you know gardening is hazardous to manicures? Of course, if a certain female remembered to slip on her gardening gloves, the dirt under her fingernails, as well as the noticeable chipped of nail polish, might not happen.
There is an odiferous thus not so great side to springtime. It is the State of Grubbiness one achieves while working in the garden, which is not to be confused with attaining the State of Nirvana.
Another less pleasant and often painful part is the biting and munching critters lying in wait for this fair-complected female. No amount of slathering the body with Skin So Soft or bug repellants deters the little devils from taking a chomp of the female crawling in the dirt.
Is it any wonder that on the second day of spring while weeding a flowerbed a bug bit this writer in the butt? Hello Spring