April 22, 2025
On a spring day like today, I should be writing about the amazing progress that spring has been making as these April days unfold. The rains last night seem to have lit up the world in glorious shades of green. It is always amazing to see the brown stubbled and beaten down yard take on the heroic task of turning into a lawn again. The peach trees are adorned in perfect puffs of pink. There isn’t anything in nature much prettier than a peach tree in full bloom. Hopefully, this means a bounty of fruit in the fall. The wild cherry tree is leafing out and soon will provide the shade cover for the hellebores that rest under its canopy. Soon it will be covered in tiny white blossoms that will provide nectar for so many of the bees that have taken residence about. In a few short weeks, its wild cherries will provide food for the birds and other wild creatures. Like so much of the plant life around the yard, I didn’t plant those trees. The birds planted them, I like to say.
These are the things I should be writing about today. The page should be filled with garden wisdom and a reminder that “Hope Springs Eternal.” It is a time when the return of warmth and sunshine and the joy it brings should be celebrated, but there is a looming dark cloud hovering overhead. It seems to be persistent, and its message is foreboding in a sense we cannot understand. Life didn’t have to be this way, but alas it is our reality. So, we do what we can to survive. There is not a lot that we have control over when it comes to the state of the world, so we plant our gardens in the belief that they will make our lives better in ways much more than just filling our plates and our freezers with food. There isn’t a price to put on the measure of hope that a garden can bring.
The soil here in this part of Freetown is composed of sand and rocks, and so it took years of composting and soil amendments to get those raised beds thriving. And every gardener knows that once one battle has been conquered, it is time to start once again. The rhubarb is unfurling its tightly wound leaves as it reaches towards the sky. My mouth is tingling as I think of the wonderful pies and cobblers that await. The pea shoots are emerging from the earth even as I write. It is a little late this year, but Spring is on the march now or should I say Spring is on the April. Every year is different, but Nature knows its course. I wish I could say the same about the inhabitants of planet Earth. Still, we have weathered other storms before. We will persevere as those patriots of Lexington did so many years ago now. We look to them as a reminder that the seemingly insurmountable can be overcome. Remember that the sun always shines after a storm. The dark clouds will pass one day. We will thrive again. Our garden wisdom tells us so.
