Spring’s vivid blooms and promise of warmer weather are enticing symbols of hope and rebirth. However, this hope can be fragile—a single cold spell and the blooms are gone, one severe storm and a favorite tree falls. When the reality of life does not match the unfolding scenery and chipper birdsong, spring can seem cruel. Some sorrows are indifferent to the seasons. Working through them while others tell you that you ought to be more bright-sided can sting.
For me, the busyness of life obscured the passage of time misleading me into thinking that what I missed today, I could enjoy tomorrow. But the blooms are fleeting. Skip them today and the next day they may be gone.
Gardening changed my views of life and time. The beauty of spring is not that skies seem bluer, baby animals frolic and joy chases sorrow away. Spring’s hope comes from connecting to nature and seeing myself as one part of multitude of things.
Hope builds in the autumn with each bulb I plant in anticipation of color that I will not see for months.
Hope grows, but more quietly, in the winter when the plants enter dormancy. In the soil under the barren-looking plants, vigorous roots are storing energy and protecting the plant until warmer weather once again unlocks its potential.
In spring, I assess what survived the winter months and what new plantings I make. Pollinators gathering pollen and birds tending to their nests keep me company as I start prepping the soil and sowing seeds. The sounds of buzzing and chirping keep me moving—and hoping. There is work for me to do. Emerging seedlings tease hope of a good harvest.
Summer and fall offer the hope of sharing our abundance with others—whether it is family, friends, local food banks, or the wildlife around me that I hope to support. The past six seasons of gardening help temper my expectations—I never know if the summer garden and those highly anticipated crops will be a boom or a bust. One summer I am sharing squash until my friends gently let me know that their squash needs are already well-satisfied. The next summer, I am cursing the squash bugs and cucumber beetles that left my plants fruitless. Crushed hopes for sure, but there is a lesson in that as well.
The year comes full cycle, carrying hope in every season, despite no guarantees at all.
Welcome to my Substack. While I am not particularly cheerful or optimistic by nature, a day in the garden or spent in nature gives me reason to hope.
What brings you hope this spring and what are you planting now in hopes of the future?
Good morning! I'm also a gardener and join you in anticipation! May you bulbs bloom and your veggies fruitful! Also we've found that co planting squash with nasturtium helps with the bugs
Beautiful and inspiring - thank you!