As a true sign of spring I am writing from the front porch today and it is amazing how green everything has gotten in the past week, but two and half inches of rain and some sun will do that. And while the sun feels great, it is also kind of depressing since now I can see how much work I have to do. Raised beds need to be forked, kiwi vines need a serious haircut and then there are weeds; they’re sprouting out of every corner and edge in the greenhouse and every one of them seems to be in flower, threatening to overrun the place with their offspring.

Of course around here that means hand to weed combat (none of this chemical genocide on our watch!).  Thankfully, this time of year they do come out rather easily, their roots are still short and they come out in bunches. But is it still disconcerting to see the multi yellow headed serpent known as a dandelion already lay claim to the byways by this the first full week of April.

And weeds are not the only unwelcome guests who have come visiting. With the pond only recently free of ice we have already had muskrats about the place seeking to take up residence.  If you read any of these posts from the past years you would know this was not welcome sight.  So far, we have greeted three of them with air-mailed packages of hot lead which, from my perspective were warmly received.

But it is good to see other signs of spring, like the “V”s of ducks and geese coming in low to the lake; hearing the valley ring with calls of their home coming and accompanied by the frolicking chorus of mating frogs. The smell of turned soil - rich, dark and earthy - it is a feast for the senses and today we get to sit back and take it all in, for tomorrow… tomorrow the work begins again.    

We are in that strange period of time; Kind of like spring, but kind of not, sixty during the day, freezing at night. Soil is tilled, even have some things planted, but the world is still ruled by multi shades of brown.

But if you look close, under the thicket of dried grass, and past the tumbling leaves, you see them. With a green so dark it almost goes unnoticed; a shoot rises up from the soil blanketed by bars of tan stalks. And if you look especially close you may see a purple flower no bigger than a dime but far more precious for this is the currency of spring, the down payment for the changing of the guard.

Crocuses may seem like bribes, both out of place and unfair in such a drab world but it is a cost that must be paid. Perhaps it is a tax, if so it is the most welcome one to be sure since it would allow the scepter to finally pass to the next ruling season.

It seems like such a waste to see such beauties lost to the world of brown but we should be thankful for the sacrifice.  For without such willingness where would we be?

Perhaps this sacrifice is the reason for crocuses, perhaps they were placed here for this very purpose. So then let us fill the world with crocuses, let the purple and pink, the yellow and white, let them bloom in all their splendor so the price may be paid and we can enter the glories of spring.