April 14, 2021
Growing up here in the Midwest, I learned the old adage that corn should be planted when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrel’s ear. I can’t say if that still holds true. The oak by my window is boasting new miniature leaves, but I just haven’t looked at enough squirrel ears to gauge their size.
The rhythms of farming have never been a part of my life. But there are plenty of traditions governing life here in town. I can tell time by the arrival and departure of certain cars on my street, and by the raising and lowering of various “open” signs. Having a post office box has also given me a daily ritual (and an excuse to go out for a short walk).
Both farmers and townsfolk are sharing in the rhythm of spring. The sun has been making itself scarce, as is common this time of year. April showers and all that. I don’t know a single person who didn’t have a difficult day in the past week, and I believe the two phenomena are related. They certainly are for me. While I’ve never been diagnosed with seasonal affective disorder, my mood often reflects the mood outside. You can accurately guess how I’m feeling by looking out a window.
It helps to know that we’re all on this journey to summer together. I’m starting to recognize the people I meet on my way to and from the post office. Some have recognized me back and introduced themselves. I love living in a place where I can expect to see the same people over and over. I like that we can smile freely at each other, greet each other by name, and comment on the weather — even if that weather is less than ideal.