Surreptitious Spring
- JanetJoanouWeiner
- May 4
- 4 min read
Spring is slow in coming this year. Warming days tease and entice us to believe we have turned the corner. Alas, close on the heels of a blue sky sunshiny day, we awake to rain, chilly winds, and cloud cover.
Yes, April showers bring May flowers (and if you're American, you add here: "And Mayflowers bring pilgrims.") It's true that so much rain, for weeks on end, has already brought forth abundant green beauty. And lots of pollen!
Where I live in the south of France, in the Cévennes, we experience the weather in ways unfamiliar to me, different from my life in the United States. Here, air-conditioning and heating systems are used judiciously, applied only to rooms as needed. While I applaud this conservation of energy consumption and with an awareness of our astronomical utilities' bill, sometimes I miss the days of central heat and air.
After a long session writing at my desk, you'll find me wrapped in several layers of clothing, scarves, and fingerless mittens. It takes a while to warm up, and I often go out to the greenhouse or for a brisk walk to get the blood flowing again. On these days, soup for lunch is the best. Nothing like warming up from the inside out.
On a good day, I feel like a pioneer woman, stoking my wood-burning stove, criss-crossing my shawl across my upper body and tying it behind to avoid catching fire. At other times, I curl into myself, body tenser than usual, and shut down a little. An English friend living here once told me that when he's chilled to the bone, he goes outside and chops more firewood. A great idea and a productive antidote.
I'm ever thankful for those first pops of color in the garden: daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips. Bursts of golden yellow, pale to bright pink, white, and violet lift the spirit. Despite their return every year, I'm always surprised, always delighted. Such a lovely gift from our Creator God in the doldrums of gray days.
And the irises! Wild ones that proliferate across our rock terraces and those cultivated from bulbs break through early. I fully understand Van Gogh's fascination with these wild beauties. Every year we discover new varieties and, if found on a roadside, clip a shoot to grow at home.
And, just in time for my May birthday, the coquelicots appear. I love red French poppies! Spotting the first ones of the season, growing wild in fields or beside the road, is a special gift. As with Van Gogh and his irises, poppies poking their delicate crimson heads through grassy fields bring to mind Monet's many paintings. Again, one understands the inspiration.
Tiny wildflowers pop out early. I can never quite capture their prettiness or convey their hardiness as they pop through our rocky Cevenol soil.
Besides flora, we've added some new fauna this spring. Our first batch of chickens are ready for a rest, so they've moved to a lovely retirement chalet on one of our newly cleared terraces. Here, they watch the sun rise and the passers by on the voie verte, walking path, on top of the nearby viaduct. They also eat their fill of grasses, seeds, and bugs as they run around free all day. We're thrilled for them and for the ground they are ploughing up for us. They're even adding soil amendments (poop!)
As a bonus, their new home is moveable. When we need a new area plowed, a few of us will carry the chalet to the spot and set the ladies up in a new location. They appear thrilled with this change of venue, and it is a complete joy to be met by them running from a higher terrace when I arrive with the SILVER BOWL (steel, haha!) full of kitchen scraps.
Let me introduce you to our new girls who now inhabit the original coop. They are still terribly shy, so it's hard to snap decent photos, but here are a few:
It's interesting getting to know a whole new flock and to watch them getting to know each other. After almost four years with our first group, I'd forgotten their initial wariness towards us and each other.
As I watch them pair up with those of like coloring, cliché chicken phrases come to mind. "Birds of a feather flock together" is a truism. I observe them establish a "pecking order". When their timidity keeps them scurrying away from my friendly feet, I realize why someone fearful can be (unkindly) called a "chicken". A few evenings ago, I heard loud squawking noises coming from the "hen house". A wild cat was outside their coop, harassing them. I did not tell them to "quit their squawking," and I was grateful they were "cooped up" and safe from predators. No harm done, only a few "ruffled feathers".
Across town, we frequently see the local shepherd and his abundance of sheep. The brass bells worn around their necks fill the air with a particular pastoral symphony. My heart sings and I draw a deep breath.
Enjoy:
As it says in Ecclesiastes: To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens.
We can rejoice in the infinite variety, the unending beauty, the surprises, the sameness. And this is only the shadow of the heavenly reality, which will be beyond what we can imagine.
La vie est belle!
Comments