Photo by Susan Crossett

Spring? Hogwash! And balderdash!

If the equinox rocks it’s taking place far south of us. I fear we’re still awaiting the typical St. Pat’s blizzard. And two more long months before the experts tell us it’s safe to plant.

“A little Madness in the Spring in wholesome even for the King,” so Emily Dickinson thinks. I waive any royalty that could claim madness. Instead, perhaps just mad. It’s the season for repentance. I repent those long dreary days still to come.

Oh, of course not is all darkness. I was celebrating the longer hours of light by mid-January. Truly! And I try not to remember it all turns back the other way in just three more months.

But while the days after June do grow darker, it is the season of summer and the times I do so enjoy sitting out with my weeds. Those days will come.

There was a period in my life when I’d fly to St. Thomas for a week or two — reveling in the beach and simply taking the prescribed time to relax. Sunshine. Good food and little to do if I didn’t wish. Only those vacations inevitably occurred in late February or early March. What was there to return to but the same dark and dreary? I ultimately decided I’d be better off to wait until April or early May and then head south (and not that far either) in time to catch the early blossoms and leafy trees, knowing that, if they didn’t return with me, they wouldn’t be far behind.

I’m truly not a sourpuss. A day doesn’t pass when I don’t find more to excite and delight me than pull me down. We all know the sad-sacks. What a waste, I say.

I have a talented grandson who has yet another year and a half to go before he’s fully prepared for an excellent career. He’s dreamed long of this but right now those eighteen months seem to stretch out so far. I try to encourage: It will seem short — once it’s passed. Meanwhile, enjoy the challenges of your studies but — and a great big but, take time too to enjoy your todays. The good times pass fleetingly if not grasped when one can.

Me? You bet I’m grasping too — with joy.

The photographs I’ve selected to accompany this article are three. The first is probably my very favorite robin picture and I do have plenty since they nest by the house. I picked this because of his expression. Staring glaringly straight into my camera, foot sunk in snow with only white to surround him, he must question the wisdom of his decision to return so early.

Some might consider the accompanying picture to be sad: a robin’s egg smashed on the deck. Accidents do happen — to all of us. In this case I can attest that nest held many more fledglings who all survived to soar away.

I look again at Mr. Robin (How do I know its sex? If you prefer Mrs. — or Ms. — let it be so.) and have to laugh. Oh, what a fine predicament indeed!

Yet he returns because he believes. Maybe the late snow wasn’t what he expected. Who of us knows what tomorrow may bring?

I have an online medium though I suspect her divination is the same for any foolish enough to enroll. I seldom open her emails any more. I have no need for her warnings or congratulations. When I do check, it’s a joke how far off she is at reckoning who I am. Reminders of foolishness don’t hurt.

I’ll take nature’s best and understand the veracity there. Snow may still be on the ground with more certain to fall. I feel close to desperate at times so eager am I to be out once again.

Yet, poking up is true spring. A season of renewal indeed.

The beautiful snowdrops are back.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts following in 2014. Both novels are now available at Lakewood’s Off the Beaten Path bookstore. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.