I start to sense the Spring long before the first little crocus has started to push through winter’s debris. I feel it stirring though logically it makes no sense when the wind is biting cold and there is still snow on the ground. It’s not just my inner landscape that’s shifting, I see it happening in Darrell, too.
In order for the sap to flow, winter and spring have to hold hands for a while: the below freezing nights yielding to warm, sunny days. Because of this necessary mingling of temperatures, places in the deep South will never know what it is to empty buckets of sap into a boiling pan and watch it slowly turn to syrup.
It’s a pure celebration around our little farmhouse when the snow begins to melt and rays of sun dance their way into the kitchen. I’ve been struck this year, in the midst of the pandemic that the trees have remained stable and steady amidst all the uncertainty. Each time I pass through our library and catch the glint of silver buckets hanging on the two ancient maples just outside the window I am reassured that all will be well.
I’m not sure who first named these two grandmother trees. We were introduced to them when the previous owners turned over the keys to their homestead and walked the land one last time with Darrell and me pointing out some of their favorite things: the barn, the pond, The Sisters. These stalwart trees have grown straight and tall for nearly a hundred years, intermingling their branches rather than crowding each other out; sisters in the truest sense of the word. It’s a bit of grace to share in the sweet sap that flows from their deep roots into outstretched limbs.
I am in awe of what happens when it is neither fully winter or fully spring, when out of necessity the seasons co-exist for a while to offer the amber gold that nourishes us throughout the year. Their natural ebb and flow doesn’t require logical reasoning , hard and fast rules, or long discussions about when the last snow should officially fall. Nature has a rhythm all its own.
It’s not just happening outside our windows, we’re a part of that rhythm and it has a lot more than syrup to offer. What if we considered the way nature moves as a guide for the way we live our lives? Think about that for a minute. If, like the seasons, we learned to co-exist, to greet each other and welcome our differences, might there be a nourishing result to that, too? And what if, like The Sisters, we made room for one another all the while learning to intermingle our branches?
Each time I add a teaspoon (or 3!) to my morning cup of PG Tips, or pour a ladleful into a jar of Cherry Berry sun tea I marvel again at how it takes the cold and warmth to make the magic of syrup happen.
There is a sweetness and natural order to the way life moves, even the smallest parts of nature are intricately connected. It’s humbling to be part of such a wonder.
If you have a moment to pause and soak in this time of the year, savor it! Add a little syrup to your tea (or coffee!) and find a window where the morning sun is filtering in. Consider what marks the beginning of Spring for you, inside and out. Darrell and I have been known to make lists – you know, just for fun!
Mindfulness - in practice 