Spring In The Foothills

Spring is upon us here in the Northern California foothills. The flowering quince are in full bloom now. We’re always a bit later than the Sacramento valley.

I’m filled with childhood memories when I walk through the yard. Yes, it’s a yard. There’s absolutely no way one could call it a “garden”. Hence the close ups in this post. Every new blossom takes me back in time to a particular event.

Funny how that happens. It’s like when you hear a certain song – it just transports you back in time. Right?

When I was a girl, my dad was always out in the garden. (Back then it was a garden.) I was always too busy with something – anything! – to help him. Gardening was something he did, not me. Every spring the flowers just appeared and I never took the time to stop and appreciate them.

But now? I just sit and take in the sheer awesomeness of nature and simply Appreciate.

The self-imposed pressure of that dreaded To-Do List eases up as I marvel at the sweetness called Daffodils that seem to pop up in new places every year.

The weight of seemingly insurmountable worries slowly drops off of my shoulders as I meander towards the old almond tree. I can’t help but remember all of the family pets that found their final resting place, courtesy of Dad. Cindy, Teddy, Brandy, Sheppy, and some who I can ‘t remember.

Is it their remains that make the almond blossoms so delightful? Or is it me? Have I just reached the age where I prefer walking amongst spring blooms to standing in line for the Hunger Games?

Whichever. Today I am taking pause. To just . . . be. To just . . . appreciate. To just . . . know that all is well.

Thanks, Dad. After 40 years or so, I finally see the ‘garden’ you tended. I finally feel the peace you felt. I finally appreciate Spring in the foothills.