May is…(a poem)
May is
puddles persisting, green-up, end of a birch sap run, promise, crafting a very long to-do list, seeing all your sins and dog turds unearthed from the melting snow (and cleaning that shit up), the first of many late night walks and bike rides, sleeping with the curtains closed, rubber boots, pulling the camping gear out of storage, a high-water river float, eating out on a deck at a restaurant for the first time in what feels like years even though it is still kind of cold out, that one hail storm that makes you thankful you didn't jump the gun on planting even though it had been quite warm and lovely the few days before, getting the garden ready, deciding whether to risk planting Memorial Day Weekend or waiting til June 1st, going to greenhouses and buying way more than you have room for, the return of the robin...
more on green-up, bud-burst, leaf-out--to some, it seems like the leaves all pop out at once, but that is simply not true. I have been watching this process since the end of February. That's when we have just enough daylight for the trees to wake up from their winter slumber just enough to remember what they are. The ends of the birch branches turn this red-violet shade, and you can't really see it up close, but the southern hillsides show it when you are on approach. In April, the aspens join the fray and you can see their branches turn a grayish-green on the hillsides. They make quite a pair, the birch and the aspen, reddish and greenish in complement to each other. When the buds start to enlarge with the gradual gaining of heat as spring progresses, you don't see this easily on the landscape level. It is a close noticing, on those trees or bushes that have that super toasty-warm spot, that little heat island, and they get green before anyone else. You see the little leaves popping out, and it feels like a promise that you know the earth will keep. You do not know exactly when, but summer is coming. Then, if a fluke snow storm or cold snap doesn't slow everything down, you do start to notice green on a landscape level--the southern-facing slopes turn first, that soft, beautiful blush of green. Then you notice it more and more, all the slopes have green. If you are lucky, you will catch them just after a cloudburst and the sun will resume shining and the little fragile leaves glisten with the rain like chartruse crystals and it makes you wonder why anyone gives a damn about gemstones at all with such wonderful, amazing, fleeting gems piled up on all the trees just for you, in this moment, in your car, speeding through this fleeting moment. And you are thankful that you survived another winter in such a harsh, lonely, unforgiving place, and you think, maybe things aren't so bad after all.
