Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Who Begets Whom?
It rained last night, quite a bit, obviously, since everything was really wet this morning. But the thunderstorm I hoped for never materialized. Such is the weather, or maybe I should say such is the inability of even the most sophisticated meteorologists to guess what's going to happen next.
But the weather front moved through, leaving behind an unbelievably sparkling, brisk day of sunshine, birdsong, and crystal clear raindrops on everything. Brother Wind is blowing through town, too, in his benevolent form as bringer of spring.
I saw daffodils for the first time today, plenty of crocus, too. And so it begins - spring, I mean. Part of my celebration of the season includes an irresistible urge to name the order of blooming plants as long as I can - until spring gets so crazy that no one can keep up with it. It's like being at a reunion in some way, recognizing first this flower, then the next, then the next. I love it.
Why do I love the order of bloom so much? Who knows. It reminds me of some of the most tedious chapters in the Icelandic sagas, in which the lineage of the characters going way back in time is recited. Not a lot of action in those chapters, but they do have their own kind of charm. I mean, how far back can you name your own lineage? Medieval Icelanders knew their family backgrounds, you better believe it. Actually there are chapters in the bible that in effect do the same thing.
My version of this, since I can only trace my own lineage back three or four generations, is: crocus, daffodil, tulip, iris - or - fruit trees, American elm, dogwoods, and last but not least, the mighty oaks. And on and on, you get the picture.
Oh glorious springtime, I love you and your crazy upward pushing energy. I love your orderly bloom that eventually becomes a crazy riot of color. I welcome you whole heartedly but please tell me - please? Why am I so allergic to you?