We have learned by our third spring on College Place to be sure to close the bedroom window afore the sun rises as the mockingbird who returns each year to perch in our silver elm executes his entire full-throated repertoire like some sort of insane ornithological car alarm as day breaks. And, while I can't help but thrill to our feathered friend's annual homecoming, between the six month old that occasionally calls in the night and the five year old who every now and again needs reassurance that shadows are not demons, every nanosecond of sleep is precious to this soon to be forty five year old.
BEAUTY IS NOT ENOUGH.
In my eighteenth spring, I had a friend who was a guest literature teacher at Interlochen. Norm Wheeler taught a class called Man's Search For Personal Meaning. We read Voltaire, Heller, Camus, etc. He took me and my girlfriend on a double date with his Swedish wife into Traverse City to go see Sophie's Choice. It was a magnificent spring explosion of a day. I had just read "On the Road" for the first time and was seeing Norm as a kind of Neil Cassady. He gestured at the trees as he drove.
"Imagine the actual physical weight of all these leaves that have opened up that weren't here a week ago. The weight of them! It must be thousands of tons! Thousands of tons of actual, tangible, palpable Spring mass that has magically appeared because of light and water!"
I can't remember if his wife spoke English.
YOU CAN NO LONGER QUIET ME WITH THE REDNESS
OF LITTLE LEAVES OPENING STICKILY.
I took out one of our tulips with the lawn mower. It was preparing to open. I didn't actually cut it with the blade of the mower, just rolled it a bit with the wheel. It was enough to lay it flat. I propped it back up with some of last year's mulch and hoped it would suffice.
After I finished cutting the grass and was back in the living room I snuck a look outside to see how the tulip was doing. It was lying flat again.
A little while later, Nicole came in with the tulip and a admonition about being careful with the lawn mower. I confessed all. We vowed to widen the beds so as to prevent further mishap and move on.
I gave the tulip a fresh cut and we put it in a vase. It has perked up and we hope for bloomage. Although Jeanie the cat has taken some late night bites out of it's leaves and puked them up on the stairs.
I KNOW WHAT I KNOW.
I opened the bottom door of the compost bin and loaded compost shovelful by shovelful into the wheelbarrow. Feisty red worms wriggled. I wheeled it to the garden and shoveled the fragrant load of veggie poop over the dirt. I took the rented home depot tiller and worked the compost in, my arms, shoulders and back straining.
Later at the kitchen sink the compost smell wafted through the window and I smiled. I imagined the neighbors turning quickly and asking, "What's that smell?"
I smiled again.
THE SUN IS HOT ON MY NECK AS I OBSERVE
THE SPIKES OF THE CROCUS.
I look up at my house as I finished my run the other day. The paint is peeling badly. The yard looks nice, but the house needs paint. Last Fall I got a letter from the village telling me to paint my house or face a fine. I wrote them back saying times is tough, and was a little indignant because it didn't look that bad. Well, this Spring I have to agree with the village, it does look that bad. I had planned on hiring someone to do it, but looks like it'll be me climbing the ladders and scraping. I need to google "repainting cedar shingled houses." A lot of the shingles need to be replaced. If I peer into the future, I see me cussing and wrestling with a job that grows the more it feeds on. One day the house will be a deep forest green and the pride of the neighborhood.
THE SMELL OF THE EARTH IS GOOD.
Duncan and I put the first early spring crop. We laid out our rows of twine so that the seedlings would have a certain flow. We were very curious about how different the seeds looked from one and other: how different a chard from a lettuce, a lettuce from a green. I realized that if these were the moments that were elongated for eternity and called heaven, I'd be good with that. Me pouring perfectly round, tiny, red collard seeds from the packet into his cupped five year old palm. We planted mustard green, collards, kale, rainbow chard, swiss chard, rhubard chard, spinach, black seeded simpson, broccoli rabe, buttercrunch lettuce, romaine, and salad bowl. Three kinds of beans. We had dirty nails at dinner.
IT IS APPARENT THERE IS NO DEATH.
Erin and Geoff live next door now. They want to put in a vegetable garden in the back. We conferred with them and they have agreed to grow the root vegetables and we will grow the leafy greens and share over the fence. Grace and Gregory used to live there, and Grace had the most beautiful flowers growing where Erin and Geoff are planting root vegetables. We dug up the irises, the fennel bush, the columbine, the peonies and they all came over the fence and live now with us in the flower beds in the front and to the side of the house. We are thrilled. So far, no casualties in the transfer. We like to think that Grace would be happy that we have them.
BUT WHAT DOES THAT SIGNIFY?
Of course, Grace might be very, very sad about the whole thing.
NOT ONLY UNDERGROUND ARE THE BRAINS OF MEN
EATEN BY MAGGOTS.
It's been a tough year. But with children in the house, one must hope. And we're getting a tax refund that'll give us another month or two reprieve.
LIFE IN ITSELF
IS NOTHING,
AN EMPTY CUP, A FLIGHT OF UNCARPETED STAIRS.
I took a train to the city. I signed in my name when I got to the appointed address. I waited with other men in suits. When it was my turn I went in the room. I said my name and performed the tasks for the camera. I had to pretend like I was at a casino having a good time and that the man I was with was my friend. The whole exercise soup to nuts took less then ten minutes. Then I took a train home. I admired the new tulips on the walk up to the front porch. The one that I took out with the lawn mower will hardly be missed.
IT IS NOT ENOUGH THAT YEARLY, DOWN THIS HILL,
APRIL
COMES LIKE AN IDIOT, BABBLING AND STREWING FLOWERS
Maybe not enough, but something.
Make this for dinner:
(From The New Basics)
SPRING GREEN PASTA
4 cups cold water
1/2 lemon
6 baby artichokes
1/2 pound thin asparagus spears, trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
16 oz. orecchiette pasta
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 Tbs. unsalted butter
1/4 cup chopped scallions
2 cloves garlic, slivered
1/2 cup oil-cured black olives, pitted
1/3 cup green peas
4 Tbs. freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and Pepper to taste
1. Fill a mixing bowl with the cold water, and squeeze the lemon juice into it. Drop the lemon half into the water as well. Set the bowl aside
2. Using a sharp knife, trim off and discard the top 1/2 inch of each artichoke. Dip the cut tops into the acidulated water (to keep them from turning brown.)
3. Pull the outer leaves off the artichokes, leaving a core of tender green leaves. Gently pry open the artichokes: using a small melon baller, scoop out and discard the chokes.
4. Cut the artichokes vertically into three or four slices, dropping them into the acidulated water as you work.
5. Bring a large saucepan of salted water to a boil. Drain the artichokes, and add them to the pan. Simmer for 10 minutes. Then drain the artichokes, reserving the cooking liquid, and rinse them under cold water. Set them aside.
6. Bring the reserved artichoke cooking liquid to a boil, and add the asparagus. Simmer for 3 minutes: then drain, again reserving the liquid. Rinse the asparagus under cold water, and set it aside.
7. Bring a large pot of fresh water to a boil. Add the orecchiette, and cook at a rolling boil until just tender.
8. Meanwhile, heat the olive oil and 1 tablespoon of the butter in a saucepan. Saute the scallions and garlic for 3 minutes. Then stir in the olives, peas, reserved artichokes and asparagus, remaining 1 tablespoon butter, 1/3 cup of the reserved cooking liquid, and 3 tablespoons of Parmesan. Stir well, and cook jut until heated through, 2 minutes. Stir in 2 tablespoons of the pasta cooking water, and transfer the sauce to a heated serving bowl.
9. Drain the pasta, and toss it in the bowl with the sauce until well coated. Season with salt, pepper, and the additional 1 tablespoon grated Parmesan. Serve immediately.
SPRING
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers
