I returned to Blue Antler Studio beneath a brillient blue sky and the sweet smell of lilac in the air. I dropped my luggage at the door, grabbed clippers and hurried to the large lilac bush in the corner of the yard. Soon the whole cabin filled with an aroma straight from my childhood and one of my favorite spring blossoms.
Then came the rain.
For a week it rained every day and stormed every night. Three times in as many nights, a good sleep, the kind of seductive sleep one falls into under the sound of rain on a tin roof, was interrupted by the alarm of the weather radio. I was awaken and warned of severe thunderstorms as lightening lit up my bedroom and thunder shook the cabin; of flashfloods like the creek at the bottom of Bell’s hill that rose up and over the bridge; and of tornado watches and warning , still thankful none actually touched down. But like the clear cool days of autumn, long cold months of winter and the muggy dog days of summer, this is the temperament of spring. Soon Mother Nature will move on to summer, sending this season, like all that have come before, into memory and, in the case of spring 2011, into the record books.
As rainy day after rainy day came and went, and my fresh cut boquet of lilacs slowly faded on the kitchen table, my spring to-do list grew frustratingly long. On my last morning at the Studio, with rain still dripping outside, I put away my list, poured myself a second cup of coffee and headed to the window seat. A mist rose from the pond, full for the first time in years. I thought of all the fun my children had had splashing, ice skating and chasing frogs around its banks. But that was way back before it sprung the leak that turned it into a glorified mud puddle. Even then the girls had turned it into their own version of a spa, once returning to the house with their little brother in tow, covered from the hairs on their heads to the soles of their feet in silky green mud; only the whites of their eyes and teeth left visible.
Suddenly several wild turkeys seemed to simply appear out of the fog; four big toms sizing each other up, puffing their feathers and fanning out their tails in turkey smack talk. Before long a couple of white tailed deer wandered out of the woods and into the field, calmly grazing in the mist, only mildly noticing the antics of the turkeys. Then much to my surprise and delight the first humming bird of the season zipped past the window.
So, while the new side deck may still be waiting for its twisted twig railing, the stone patio its pebble mosaics and the garden its new plantings; for now, the living is easy for the wildlife out on the ridge, the pond has forgiven last year’s drought and I have a renewed appreaciation for the slow, simple, pleasures of a lazy rainy day.