Emerging

Every spring I watch the first flowers out my window. My early irises and the crocuses who bravely came up first are done with blooming already. The daffodils take longer, because they have longer to grow, and don’t do a well with the unexpected spring snows. So goes the progression of spring flowers, through the tulips and bleeding hearts and other flowers who love the extra sun before the trees leaf out, and count on the lack of competition from the summer flowers who don’t have their built in antifreeze. My Morning Glories won’t even sprout until late June, and it isn’t until the full sun of July that it is their turn to grow inches a day, and cover my trellises with heart shaped green leaves and purple flowers.

Every spring as the days grow longer and the spring flowers push up through the soil, I realize “I haven’t seen my friends in forever- do I still have friends?” And as the days warm it becomes a worry, “why don’t I get out more? What have I been doing all winter?” And every spring I remember, eventually, that in this part of the world it’s normal for humans to do a bit of hibernating in the winter, and that spring lures us back out into the sunshine in our own good time, and back to one another.

This year, the spring drama is overlayed with the ongoing covid pandemic. We have been more cloistered than usual this winter, especially those of us who work or study from home or are retired. In the same way that I feel out of shape the first creaky time I get back on my bike each spring, I feel like I am currently out of shape for being with other humans. I’ve heard many people talking about an increased social anxiety- our social muscles have atrophied a bit, and we are worried we won’t remember how to do it, when we finally get together. “I’ve gone feral” one friend told me- and I realized I felt the same way. I’ve put most of my energy into my inner life, feelings, hopes, worries, and very little attention to my outer life, although I do try to straighten my backdrop and check my hair before I join a Zoom gathering.

As difficult as this time has been, there are things we may miss, or worry about losing from our long year of covid. I know that although I miss my friends and family terribly, I have settled into a comfortable routine with my husband and our dog. In fact, a silver lining of working at home is that my older dog has some medical problems, and because I am working from home, I am always close by to make sure he is cared for. I even have house plants that need water every day- no big deal when working from home, the plants have been a great joy and distraction during this time, and it’s easy to notice when they need water and make sure they have it. A couple retired friends who live alone tell me they have settled into the quiet of their covid household and are surprised to find they will miss it.

Though I sigh with relief and joy every year to see the first crocus blooms, I worry with them through the inevitable snow falls of early spring- a snow at the wrong time can ruin the blooms, and no bee will come out to pollinate flowers in a snowstorm. So even though we humans have been waiting to return to “normal” for over 2 years, it’s healthy to have worries and reservations about the coming transition. It might help to remember that really there is no rush. The spring flowers know this. If you watch the tulips, you will see that though they seem to grow inches in a single sunny day, when the late snow and frost comes they will stop their growth just as quickly, and can hover at that same height until the warm sunny days return. The return to normal won’t happen overnight, it will grow in fits and starts like the spring foliage. And like a spring garden, each year is like no other. This very strange spring be easy with yourself. It’s okay to open slowly to the returning sun. Trust your own inner wisdom, bloom at your own pace.