To Every Thing There Is a Season

March kind of got away on me. It's a really busy season; my head is full of thoughts and my soul and body too tired to process them all. But then the other day I heard this poem read at a gathering, and I was reminded of how much I love it. It brings up the image of a pendulum, swinging slowly back and forth, ticking away the times.
There is a time to every purpose under heaven.

SEASONS

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war,
And a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Rain-drenched crocus buds. Spring is here.

Autumn

I don't really have anything to say today, so I'll show you instead: pictures of a Canadian October. Autumn. You know, come to think of it, I like the word "autumn" better than "fall" (although I usually use the latter when I'm talking). "Fall" sounds you've just tripped and gone splat, "autumn" sounds so much more poetic.

Zucchini, spaghetti squash, pumpkins, and some kind of crossbreed which makes good pies.

Thanksgiving Turkey. That sucker was so big, the lid didn't fit on the roasting pan.

Those poor petunias, still trying to pretend its summer.

Rain. It's cosy inside on those days.

...but we've had sunny days, too. The brilliance of autumn colours is beyond comparison.

So there you have it: Life, the Universe, and My Autumn So Far. I do like this season.

California Dreamin'

It snowed last night. Again. Grey skies, white ground, grey slushy roads. There was nothing else for it, I had to pop the Mamas And The Papas album into the car CD player and listen to "California Dreamin'" all the way to town and back. And I was going to moan, snivel and whine about this weather to you today, but then I realised that the more I think about it, the more depressed it's making me. So I won't.

Just yesterday, I heard a spring bird chirping outside my window. And the snowdrops are still going strong, with the crocus and daffodil shoots making an appearance just a few inches over from them, too. It seems winter and spring are really duking it out this year. Winter is probably trying to make up for its initial reluctance by excessive February tenacity. But, alas, it's a losing battle; winter is doomed. It's just trying to make me feel some of its gloom before it goes. So I'll look at my California pictures and blow a raspberry at winter, because I know the sun will be back eventually.

And then I was thinking about this phrase, "duking it out". Aren't there some kind of rules for boxing matches that were first written down by a duke of some sort? Queensberry Rules, I believe. Oh, no, wait, Queensberry was a Marquess. Wrong sort of aristocrat, one level too low for a Duke. But higher up in the ranks than Earl Grey and the Earl of Sandwich, whose inventions were far more useful to humankind than a set of regulations for which part of the body you're allowed to land a blow on.

Life, the Universe, Seasons and Sandwiches. I know which aristocratic inventions are highest on my list. Do you take milk in yours?

Snowdrops

This one is for Bonnie Heather, who was asking today if it's springtime yet. Look what's blooming beside my front door! Aren't they lovely? Yes, spring is on its way, even though just a few feet over from the snowdrops there's still a dirty patch of the white stuff that gives them their name.

I planted the bulbs for these little beauties last fall; I finally remembered to get some and actually put them in the ground. In the last few years, every spring I'd go "Gee whiz, I forgot to plant spring bulbs again!" but this year, I remembered. And then had to replant the poor things once or twice, because the cats figured that handy spot beside the front door, right against the wall of the house where it's protected from the snow, must be meant for a litter box for them. Grrrr.

I'm not a good gardener; really, I've always had a bit of a brown thumb. When it comes to remembering to actually look after the plants, it's usually something along the lines of "Oh dang, you're dead! I suppose I should have watered you before now..." (What does that say about me that I don't talk to my plants when they're alive, but only when they've gone to their lack-of-watery grave? Hmm...) But there are some things that I've managed to grow over the years, and, if I may say so, the fact that they're surviving against the odds (meaning "me", who is, admittedly, quite odd at times) makes them all the more special.

I'm especially fond of spring flowers; there is something so hopeful about them. So far, I've had crocuses, which are very lovely, but as I said, the snowdrops were a long-time wish. The crocuses are only just starting to poke up out of the ground (you can see their little shoots beside the snowdrops in the picture), so it'll be a good month before we see blossoms on them. They'll be the colourful harbingers of real spring, but the snowdrops are like a promise that winter is winding down, and spring won't be far behind.

Life, the Universe, and Snowdrops. Yes, Bonnie, it's springtime, or at least it soon will be.

Seasons

It's cold enough today that the lake was steaming. If you take a close look at the picture, you can see some faint white smudges over the surface of the water. (I did have a sightly better picture, but then Steve insisted he had to be in the photo, because he hasn't been in a blog post in a while. So what could I do?) Now, the thing is, you see that white rim on the left edge of the water? That's not the shore - that's ice. In other words, we've got near-frozen water, and the temperature differential with the air is great enough that the water turns to steam. Up here, on the North end of the lake, the steam is quite faint, not very noticeable, but at the South end, by the tree where the eagles like to sit, the steam was rising in great swathes of thick mist. Just like your pot of spaghetti water when it's about to come to the boil.

So, it's -20°C out there today (I'd tell you what that is in Fahrenheit, but I don't know - it's 20 Below Freezing, you figure it out), and there's snow. And oh, the wailing and gnashing of teeth one hears! You'd think this was unusual for this time of year around here. Well, it's not. This is what the weather is supposed to do in January. But this year, we've had a really warm, snow-free winter so far, since that first snowfall and cold snap in November. No White Christmas. I guess this week Winter finally remembered its job, and decided to make up for lost time.

And so this made me think of seasons, and seasonality. I actually didn't like that warm, green Christmas we were having. Rain in December just didn't seem right. Now, of course this bitter, biting, brutal cold, and the white stuff that goes with it, is inconvenient. For example, Moaning Myrtle (my van, which developed a moaning whine recently when she's cold, hence the moniker) has to park at the top of our steep driveway; if I'd bring her down to the bottom and put her in the garage I likely wouldn't be able to get out again, in spite of assiduous snow shovelling. Also, as I should have known would happen, the cold water tap in the kitchen is frozen again; one night of -15°, and we're getting our cold from the bathroom sink. But, really, it's no big deal. It's winter.

And there's nothing we can do about it, about it being winter, I mean. Or the frozen kitchen tap. We just prepare for it (or not, as the case may be), dress warm, park Myrtle at the top - and wait for the seasons to change again. Six months from now the conversations on the street or in the grocery store will be along the lines of "Sheesh, it's a scorcher today!", and I'll be trying to keep my eyeballs from sweating when I drive down the road instead of preventing my finger tips from freezing off.

I don't like the inconveniences that come with the changing seasons - but I love how every season has its joys and pleasures. A hot bowl of beef stew is never so delicious as when it's cold, dark, and snowy outside, the cooking food steaming up the kitchen windows. But it would be depressing if that's all there ever was; if I didn't know that in a few months, the greatest pleasure will be an icy-cool glass of lemonade and a big plate full of fresh, crisp, colourful salad with balsamic vinaigrette to go with a piece of chicken, barbecued on the balcony to the accompanying roar and whine of the speedboats on the lake. (Okay, forget the speed boats. They're NOT one of the pleasures of summer. In fact, they're... Oh, never mind. More pleasant things to contemplate here.)

Oh, and I don't know what Steve and Horatio have been plotting on my bedside table in the last few days. I think it probably has something to do with chocolate chip cookies.

Life, the Universe, and Steaming Lakes. There is a time for every purpose under heaven.