“It can’t beat us!” Pa said.
“Can’t it, Pa?” Laura asked stupidly.
“No,” said Pa. “It’s got to quit sometime and we don’t. It can’t lick us. We won’t give up.”
Then Laura felt a warmth inside her. It was very small but it was strong. It was steady, like a tiny light in the dark, and it burned very low but no winds could make it flicker because it would not give up.”
― Laura Ingalls Wilder, The Long Winter
Snow blankets the earth, covers the tree limbs dotted with tiny, furrowed sparks of potential green. I look out each day, yearning for a hint of sunlight and see only the diffused glow from behind thick grey clouds. So close were we to seeing the bare earth before this latest onslaught of snow and ice. Today, it is as much memory as is the faint remembrance of summer in February.
The longer it goes, the more I realize the beauty in spring. The more difficult its beginning; the more appreciation I feel in mere anticipation. So that when the sun does arrive, the world will erupt in color; erase the grey with shades of earthen hues. And restore within us a sense of wonder in all things as miraculous as the tiny seed that grows into a live oak, or the intricate process that spins the dull, lusterless caterpillar into a winged thing of beauty.
While awaiting spring, please consider supporting a permaculture demonstration orchard at DeYoung.