I have come to learn that Spring in central West Virginia always comes with one last blast from Winter. Yesterday, I harvested the first asparagus of the season. Today, Iâve seen rain, sleet, snow, drizzle, and sunshine--and itâs not yet five oâclock. At least, for the day, my spring allergies have let up.
There are days when I love, truly love, West Virginia. And then there are days when I canât avoid the mud and the pollen leaves me wanting to scratch my eyes out. Sometimes I have to look up at the crisp night stars or catch the sunset as it falls below the hillsides to the west to remind myself that I live amongst beauty. We had an osprey visit the lake out back last week, and I need to chase a wild goose out of the chicken pen on a pretty regular basis. Sometimes, the peeper frogs sing so loud they keep me awake. Sometimes I forget what blessings these are.
Itâs been a long year, hasnât it? More than a year now of Covid, of division, of surreal situations. I canât imagine how many times in the last year I have said, âunbelievable,â âridiculous,â âthatâs insane,â and/or, âIt is what it is.â I canât imagine how many times I rolled my eyes, held my tongue, or sighed in wordless disbelief. (Am I the only one who sees the irony in expecting a state whose motto is, âalways free,â to achieve a âherdâ community?) It feels like the last year has been a rollercoaster of flawed logic. A year ago, our governor was speaking like a comforting father, now heâs chastising us for being who we are. I suppose heâs as disappointed with the last legislative session as he is with us. I must say, Iâve been a bit disappointed in our leadership lately. Thank goodness for spring, at least the birds are singing.
And that makes sense. Spring birdsong and blossoming cherry, apple, and pear trees make sense in a world that seems to have gone completely insane. The smell of daffodils is the scent of new beginnings. And a spring day of sun, rain, sideways snow, and drizzle makes sense to me as well. Winterâs last blast â she just canât leave without having the last word.
Itâs up to us to find the beauty in the ugly days. Itâs up to me to be grateful for the flowering Kwanza Cherry tree in the center of the libraryâs patio where I work. Itâs up to me to be thankful Iâm toasty and warm when fat snowflakes fly sideways past the nine-pane window of our front porch door. Itâs up to me, when my back pains me, to be thankful for the health I do have. Some days, Iâm just grateful to retain a minuscule sense of humor. Many days, Iâm just grateful Iâve kept my mouth shut. Some days, I lose my sense of humor and run my mouth. Thatâs when I say things like, âunbelievable,â âridiculous,â (among other things) and make people think Iâm the one who has gone insane.
Albert Einstein said, âThe definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.â I wonder what Einstein would think about West Virginia. With all the change we have faced in the last year, some things just never seem to change. And when we are unsuccessful in making change, we shrug and say, âit is what it is.â Itâs the adult version of that annoying teen shrug, âwhatever.â Itâs the resigned human existential question -- âWhatâs the point?â
The point, simplified, is the beauty of that cherry tree if I take the time to appreciate it. Itâs the sweetness of the Autumn Olive blossoms, even though they are an invasive shrub spreading across the hillsides and hanging over the creek banks. Itâs learning to play in the mud instead of wallowing in it, even though every time we muddy the waters for change, we just make more mud.
I donât know why it took me so long after moving here to invest in a good pair of mud boots. Cute, flimsy rubber boots with umbrellas or raindrops all over then wonât cut it around here. Theyâll last about one season around a farm before you spring a leak that leaves your feet wet. Those boots are for clear puddles of water walking along a paved or grassy path, for a tamer environment--not for tromping through squishy oozing muck holes mixed with animal excrement, or for wading through political or physical floodwaters.
How many pairs of cute little rain boots did I buy before finally breaking down and spending more than I wanted on a serious pair of muck boots? Too many, but Iâve got a good pair of muck boots now, and that has made all the difference.
âMuckrakersâ were reform-minded journalists in the Progressive Era in the United States who exposed established institutions and leaders as corrupt. They typically had large audiences, and took on corporate monopolies and political machines, trying to raise public awareness and anger at urban poverty, unsafe working conditions, and child labor. The muckrakers provided detailed, accurate journalistic accounts of the political and economic corruption and social hardships caused by the power of big business in a rapidly industrializing United States. They were the first true investigative reporters, referred to as âmuckrakersâ because they âstirred up the mud.â
A good pair of boots lets you walk upon snow with warm feet, slip through slush without sliding, walk through the wet and the muck without a care in the world, knowing your foundation is protected. A good pair of muck boots makes it possible to stand at the very edge of the water to focus on the song of the peeper frogs and watch the salamanders swimming. A good pair of muck boots allows you to cross creeks and streams to get to the best mushrooms or to see where the hawks are nesting. A good pair of boots lets you walk through a wet, plowed garden to place frost cloth over the peas; allows you to walk with confidence through swamps and marshes to find where the ducklings hide and climb to the top of the ridge to watch the eagles fly. With a good pair of boots, the mud doesnât matter.
Spring has sprung, but mud season continues and some of us just canât help but stir it. Weâve been cooped up, masked, and lived with Covid too long. Itâs time to start the garden, time to clean up the yard and mow. Time to dismiss the mud, to be grateful for the sunshine, and the flowers, and the new life that spring brings. Have ya got your boots on?
You can subscribe to Lisaâs seasonal newsletter at tinyurl.com/two-2020 or visit her at Lhayesminney.net
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