Spring is the season of change, not all change is pretty.
We like to think of budding blooms when we think of spring. A photograph of a flower might have snow, but it is all a symbol of the possibilities of the season of rebirth.
As pretty as that snow might have been in that moment, it is the messy mud that stays the longest, clinging to our shoes long after we thought we wiped it away.
When we talk about spring we don’t often talk about the mud and the floods that make the changing season so hazardous.
Beneath the pristine snow is the dirt that nurtures the verdant scenery we look for each spring. The snow that can be so beautiful is also what brings about the changes that create unhappiness.
From dirty footprints on a clean floor to houses that once stood strong, the changes of spring can have surprising emotional impact.
In the depths of our distraught it is important to remember that this sometimes destructive change of spring can bring forth the most beautiful harvest.
While in Louisiana recently a storm came through blowing trees down all around us. Not only did they lay across the bayou, but I had found a walking trail that reminded me of home which became blocked thanks to the storm.
The friend we visited noted that they always had storms that knocked down any diseased and decrepit trees in the early spring and then the first hurricane would carry them away. It was part of the reason for such healthy growth in the area.
If the land were a sentient thing, I cannot imagine that having the unhealthy growth ripped from it would be something pleasant to experience. I know as a human I feel the same way about change sometimes.
In my humanity I have also watched the most difficult changes reap the most amazing harvests.
In the final snow of the season, when all the world turns from blanketed buds in the springing of days to fertile mud flooding the entry, I think about the possibilities my discomfort represents.
I think about the seeds that are planted during such a receptive time.
I think about the unexpected fruits that might come forth from seeds unknowingly left behind.
I think about what possibilities I might harvest if I plant with purpose.
As I long for the sunshine of my days, I remember every healthy harvest requires plenty of water.
Beanie Taylor is a staff reporter for The Tribune. She can be reached at 336-258-4058.