The end of February— it feels like a time of reckoning.
At last we can see the terrain that lay hidden beneath the snow since November. It is still there. Most of it isn’t pretty, like the sodden tufts of lawn all over town (but not in my mud yard, not yet). The tufts look brown in passing, but when you bend close, you can see the promise of new green, just beneath the ugliness. My wispy baby perennials–the ones I ordered prematurely last March, and didn’t plant in holding beds until just before the first frosts in late September because I was too busy working on the house–are at last exposed. They look bedraggled and perilously devoid of green, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised by winter-worn perennials before. I am hopeful. I need to go out and touch them. Wiggle and flex and pinch stems. Pronounce deaths, congratulate survivors.
The other night, I caught a whiff of that prelude-to-spring fragrance in the air. It is a smell I love, the scent of slowly thawing earth. And with the thawing, we have ponds in the back yard again. It is obvious that we’ll need to re-route the water expelled from our crawlspace (thank you, sump pumps—at least it’s not under the house). Out of our backyard and into the street drains, like all the neighbors do. It is legal after all.
And also for the first time since November, I went for a run yesterday. The air was blowing kisses from San Francisco and Coos Bay; I couldn’t resist. I had tried to stay more or less in shape all winter by jumping around on an ancient Jane Fonda step. It is archaic, but it has worked for me for sixteen years (I abandoned Jane’s particular routine almost immediately after I bought the step, relying on sporadic tips from my sister Leah and vague memories of earlier dance classes for my workouts). And so I met the road again with just a little trepidation. It liked me! And I loved it. I ran five miles with only a couple of short breaks. I was thrilled that my lungs were up for the adventure. I waved hello to the familiar row of sycamores lining an alfalfa field, just past Hoagies (who have sadly changed their drive safe corndogs sign). I had missed those sycamores, their muscular calico arms, their sturdy posture and welcoming air of establishment. And after my run, I felt elated and smug. High on oxygen, and how clever of me to stay in shape all winter! That was yesterday. Tonight, my hips and thighs are so sore that I winced when little Nora leapt into my lap, and when I get up out of a chair, I am as stiff and slow as an old man. I guess I’ll just have to run it off again tomorrow.
