At this time last year, I was impatiently waiting for my husband to come home from Afghanistan for his two weeks of leave. This year, I’m twiddling my thumbs and tapping my feet as I wait expectantly for spring to come to Maine. Both waits have been excruciatingly slow and as maddening as driving behind a school bus when you’re late for work, but I won’t offer any opinion as to which was the worse of the two.
In both cases, the phrase “better late than never” applies. Thankfully, my husband got home then, and now we are starting to see some signs that spring is finally on its way.
The leaves are tentatively unfurling themselves, taking time to stretch like a cat after a nap.
The hostas are pushing up through the mulch beds.
The flowering bushes are starting to bloom into vibrant firework-like displays of color.
My chives are up!
Nothing says “spring” like a trip to Home Depot.
I can finally grow grass for the cats again.
(Note: I have to do this outside. If I try to grow it inside, they eat it as soon as it starts to show green and there isn’t a place in this house that is safe from those two ninjas. Cat grass is very important to the health of my other houseplants. And my cats, when I find my peace lily ragged with teeth marks and leafy piles of puke on the floor.)
I think I can put the shovels away now.
Owen can spend more time out in the yard.
And let’s face it. A little sun does us all good this time of year.
How about you? What signs of spring have you been seeing? What does spring mean to you?