Between Storms

Ah, Spring in Alaska.

This morning we woke to three inches of fresh snow, and drove to school through thick flakes. By mid-morning a blue hole grew and grew, until sunshine beamed down on us during the first recess.

By the end of second recess, a student thought she heard thunder as we looked at the wall of grey clouds moving our way. The first snowflakes fell as we lined up to head inside for lunch.

I sat in the staff lounge watching the snow travel sideways as the wind picked up in the early afternoon. Before the final bell rang, blue skies dominated yet again; and as I drove to my physical therapy appointment I thought about walking the dogs to the beach afterwards to enjoy the evening sunshine.  And then I saw Resurrection Bay, with dark angry clouds moving our way.

By the time I picked up the kids to drive home, my squeaky wipers attempted to keep my view clear. "Did you see the hail today?" they both asked.

"I missed the hail," I said,  "But it's sure been a wild weather day."

Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" played on the radio as I almost got stuck in the deep snow at the Y of our driveway.

Spring, the season of whiplash, that leaves us bruised and battered, especially if we expect any weather pattern to persist.

We can't contain the golden days; can't capture them in a jar to protect us during the next storm. We can't lasso the high pressure and hold it aloft.

The fair days remain fleeting, as winter refuses to loosen her grip--and though the weather constantly lets us down, messing with our hearts, our sense of hope, we go on-- we wake up, look out the window, and rise.

We pack our boots and our sunscreen. We get our bikes ready but don't put away our skis. We dress in layers. We prepare for every kind of day because they all may exist in one.

So too in life. No-one gets only sunny days. Storms don't last forever. The sky always lightens if we remember to look up.

On Saturday the forecast predicted an 80% chance of snow and rain. We woke to blue skies. Unexpected sunny days always brighten my mood. It's one thing to wake up to anticipated sunshine, something else all together when you foresaw bleakness and rise to sparkling rays of light. 

The doctor recently cleared Olive, who suffered a severe injury skiing last month, to participate in P.E and track and this summer's Mt. Marathon race. Her body has healed far faster than expected. The relief I feel can be sliced with a knife and served as steak. Thick, juicy, rare.

I recruited Olive on Saturday to help me plant. We stood outside, next to one of our many snowbanks, with the warm sun on our faces. 

We poked seeds and bulbs into potting soil. The tiny beginnings of plants to feed and delight us--beans, tomatoes, broccoli, lilies, gladiolas, begonias-- small bundles of hope between storms.

Underneath all our snow plow piles, my perennials begin to reach.

Even in the dark, they grow.

Comments

[Stephanie Mier]

So glad to hear about Olive!

[Christy]

She is now just about fully recovered!