As I walk the Acres the last week before Old Man Winter takes the stage, I am immersed in an unusual feeling--hope. Yep, hope. A Ripley's moment, eh? The skies are mostly gray, the ground is soaked, cold is in the air, most everything is dormant. Where does the hope come from?
First, the dry summer has been countered by a wetter than normal fall. Hopefully, whatever damage the semi-drought may have inflicted has been reversed by the many rains of autumn 2012. The pond is full to overflowing much to the pussy willow's delight. The low areas are under water, but I prefer Cummings conclusion--"the world is puddle-luscious"--to any negative thoughts. The rain will seep into the ground and provide impetus for next year's growth. And my weather-proof boots keep my feet dry so that's not a problem. (What? Of course, I always slosh through the puddles just to make sure.) The bog, too, is boggish again--again, a good thing in my opinion. The plants and seeds that are lovers of moist, wet sites are settling in to "home" as they know it. All that gives me hope for a beautiful spring. I am also hoping for our first good snow at the end of the week, a warm blanket for the cold that's sure to come.
Amazingly, some of last year's "hope" is still blooming. I know, another Ripley's. Several snapdragons are still blooming--red, yellow, orange, white. One small patch of lilac alyssum is still blooming in a planter. And there are a few hot pink buttercups blooming in several places. Who knew some buttercups weren't yellow? These colorful beauties are free to hang on for as long as they want. Let's hope so anyway. For you flower lovers who are jealous--my heart bleeds for you. (Ha!)
My imagination also gives me hope. I'm imagining what the cold, wet winter will do to revive my dormant trees and shrubs when the warmth of March adds the last growth ingredient and "life" comes back again. I have no doubt that they will all spring into action and grow magnificently. Some will finally reach a level of maturity that will allow them to bloom for the first time. Some will just continue their rise toward the skies. A wet, cold winter is essential for a lovely spring. I, also, imagine that the bulbs are already mixing their paints so that they can colorize my world next year from March to October. As if to stimulate my hopes and tempt me into "too soon" expectations, a few daffodils have already poked through the soil and checked out the future. Some crocus, grape hyacinth, and Dutch iris do that every year. But though they are expected, they do add to the hopeful feeling.
The wild area is brown and dead. Well, the paths have a little green. And the brambles' branches are red. But everything else is just dead. So, where's the hope? Seeds. Many of the plants are still hanging on to theirs waiting for a few more storms to let go. Many of them have already thrown the next generation onto the soil. The coneflowers show signs of having provided some snacks for the sparrows of the field. Here's hoping, as they usually do, that they play their role as winged gardeners and start a new patch of coneflowers for next summer. I, of course, have thrown my own seeds into the area with hopes of a bountiful harvest. And my gardening angels always having something "up their sleeves."
I guess, it all depends on your outlook. I could walk the Acres and think, "I'd better go reread Genesis and make sure there won't be another flood." Or I could muse, "everything is dead and dormant; there is no hope." But my experience tells me that none of that negativity is true. "Hope springs eternal"--it really does. Perhaps the skies help. Even on the cloudiest, gray days there is usually a break in the cover and behold! a patch of blue emerges, and the sun's invisible yellow rays prance around the Acres. No matter how thick the clouds, the sky and the sun are just waiting above them, knowing their chance will come when they can break through the darkness and bring the warmth that will bring renewal to the plants of Iten's Acres. Sooner than you think--or imagine--or hope. Guaranteed. Fulfilled hope is the reward of patience, you know. And at those moments of brightness, I always reflect on Vincent van Gogh. To him, blue symbolized the mysterious and the infinite. Yellow, his favorite color, symbolized the presence of sacred love. God's blues and yellows are always there, always active, just waiting for the best moment. Yes. Behind the gray, He is always there, and He loves to remind us of His presence. He is the God of hope.
I wish Vincent or one of his proteges could stop by next year and paint some of my daffodils. The yellow ones--on a background of blue skies. I can hope, can't I?
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