Spring Reflections by Joanne Mahler

Yesterday was a cross-quarter day, halfway between the Spring Equinox and the Summer Solstice . . . . . and it got me reflecting on the magical progression of the seasons. Soon we will be tumbling headlong into the full, lush, magical, sensual drunken-ness that is Summer in my corner of the Midwest  . . . . . . .  the cacophony of birdsong and insects...the movement of the breeze through the leaves as they change from one shade of green to another...the foliage and incredible flowers--their sweet smell wafting through the air . . . the hot, thick, humid days often followed by not-much-cooler/peel-off-your-sticky-clothes nights . . . . . . . . . . mmmmmm. I sometimes wonder at my progression from an "I hate summer weather" person to a St. Louis Summer-loving woman . . . . . . . perhaps it's simply a growing-older wisdom benefit? (That's what I like to think.)

The other thing I'm noticing is how Mother Earth seems to be re-balancing here, after a most unusual Spring so far. It arrived extremely early, with many flowering trees peaked and finished before March was over. Then, in early April, we had a late protracted cold spell, accompanied by ice and very "winterish" weather, leaving many flowering trees and shrubs damaged or destroyed in its wake. It seems to have taken a long time for those which survived to shake off the shock and resume their natural, seasonal growth patterns. This morning, outside in the yard with my cup of courage, as I took a look around and breathed in the familiar and beloved signs of May, I realized that the earth was righting herself after being rocked.

I love the mystery that my intellect cannot begin to fathom . . . . . . . .

Blessings of righting ourselves to us all . . . . . . .

Joanne Mahler
St. Louis, MO, U.S.
May 2, 2007
(WWTW March 1992 Delevan WI)

More Spring Reflections

Watching the trees make their first appearance is my all-time favorite time, when the leaves are so tiny they look like a ghost of green. Usually that time lasts about three days, but this year it has lasted a slooooowwwww three weeks, as though the leaves are cautiously peeking out from the branches. One observation I've made is that the trees that are slowest to leaf this spring are the oaks, the same sturdy ones that didn't bend or break a twig during the vicious ice storms last winter. I think the oaks will be the last ones standing no matter what the weather or disaster. Reminds me to honor that quiet, cautious and strong part of my self.

Mary Schanuel
St. Louis, MO, U.S.
(WWTW May 1995 Delevan WI)


I feel particularly excited about Nature's gift to me this week. On Monday, I put up a hummingbird feeder outside the front window of a home where I'm spending my first spring. An hour after I hung the feeder, as I sat a few feet away breathing in the spring air in this small town and listening to the riotous bird song, who appeared? My first hummer--a gorgeous male who drank heartily, impervious to my presence. Wow! The activity has been brisk around that feeder since and I'm drunk with gratitude.

Wishing each of you your own real or metaphorical hummingbirds!

Mary Ann Armour
Louisiana, MO, U.S.
(WWTW Delevan WI)


Mmmmmm, earth sisters. How about the way the sun back lights those little green leaf tufts, appearing like a tree full of green puffs? And the fallen tree flowers, coating my sidewalk in a carpet of pale green. And if you're lucky enough to live near a relatively undisturbed woods, the spring ephemerals . . . anemone, bloodroot, jack-in-the-pulpit. My eyes can hardly believe it!

Deb Hoffman
Wisconsin, U.S.
(WWTW June 1990, Delavan, WI)

Since moving to my little "farmette", I've discovered spring in a new way this year - on many, many levels. I lived in the "city" since I was born - always with a dream that someday I would get out of the rat race and embrace a slower and more enriching way of life (a way that enriches me). I've done that - mind you, I didn't say it was an easier way of life. Living in the country is hard work - the physical aspect is the obvious way it can take a toll - the emotional and spiritual work I've done since moving there in January has been the surprise I've been looking for in my life for some time.

I get home in the evenings and there is work to be done. I get home on a Friday night and don't leave until Monday morning because there is work to be done - always grass to cut, fences to mend, manure to be spread, horses to be wormed, groomed, ridden - whatever. It's never a dull moment. What I've found this spring is that I don't mind the grime so much. I don't mind getting really dirty and hot. Nature is all around me and I am learning new things every day that were perhaps right in front of me all along. I've learned that grass is beautiful and living in the country means it doesn't have to be perfect and trimmed. It's a source of food and survival for my horse - one that he runs for joy in as soon as he finds the first patch of regrown clover - in my past life, I would have sprayed these pesky little patches until I was sure they wouldn't come back. Now I seek them out, pick a handful and hand feed my horse his clover treat. All the physical work has been a great distraction for me - in a good way. It's methodical and laborious and allows my mind to quit working and just "be." I finally get to experience being a human "being" instead of a human "doing."

The early morning cup of coffee on the porch brought a special gift this past weekend. My Canadian geese have goslings! Six of them. Their fierce commitment to the protection of their young amazes me. I watched as my Labrador accidentally discovered the goslings. Normally she runs at the geese and chases them back to the water if they get too close to the house. She tried this as usual this weekend - both Mom and Dad stood their ground between Daisy (the crazy lab) and their precious babies, expanded their wings fully and flapped at her like crazy. She tucked her tail and hauled butt back to the porch. I patted her head and told her she was a smart dog.

Reflections of spring come to me as I listen to the heavy spring showers on my metal roof. It's the white noise of it that calms my mind and allows me to let go of any expectations I had for the day. I visit my grandmother's fresh grave and marvel at how fast the grass is beginning to cover the newly spread soil. I almost want to scream "stop, I'm not ready for her to be covered yet." And, the new grass reminds me that I don't get to choose when growth happens.

Two extraordinary (yet quite ordinary) blue robin eggs found their way to the ground under our mighty pines after a storm - unbroken yet destined to always remain in this perfect and unhatched state. We added them to our collection of abandoned nests and eggs in a ritualistic salute to all the beautiful lessons we've learned from bird watching this spring. The are such simple yet highly tuned creatures.

Ahhh ... I love the life I have created for myself and I too am astounded at all the lessons nature has to teach me this spring that my intellect cannot process fast enough.


Stacey Cotton
Oakland, TN, U.S.
(WWTW, Delavan, WI)