EVERY season has its inviting magic. Each year, as a season rolls around again, I embrace it for its qualities or dimensions I love. Many people detest winter, but no, oh no! not me! I am a Colorado girl through and through. Snow? That white starry sparkly fairy dust? I am in love with it. Simply intoxicated by it.
This past Pesach, just as the holiday ended and I was putting my adorable nephew to sleep, I hugged him. I told him I had the most wonderful week together and how much I was going to miss him. It had been perfect.
The one and only thing more I could have wished for, I mused aloud, was for it to have snowed. I had visions of building him a snofa throne to sit on, plus preparing for him kosher-for-Passover snow ice cream! Oh well, it had been such a special Pesach! We talked and read a bedtime story. I kissed him gnight.
The next morning we all woke up to a morning . . . blanketed in white! I just couldnt believe it. We jumped into our snow gear, covered ourselves in pom pomd hats and wrapped ourselves in warm coats.
There was no time for the snofa or the ice-cream making. But there was just enough time to delight in it, and play a bit.
My brother and I, together with my nephew, made snow angels and rolled snow balls into one big snowman we decked out in scarf, hat and gloves
(Actually, to be honest, my nephew was mostly watching us through the living room window, taking picures.)
By late morning, there was barely any evidence of the snowfall. So, my little wish upon that bedtime star that I wasnt even officially wishing had come true! (Had I known my powers on that particular night . . . )
BUT now that we have come out of the grip of winter to Spring . . . why, spring! I want to shout it from the rooftops! Readers, its spring! Oh Springtime, you are an incomparable joy!
The entire world is in bud. Color has come again. It is a reawakening.
Shir ha-Shirim, The Song of Songs, says it best: The time of flowering has come, the sound of the birds can be heard in our land.
Chirp. Tweet. Peep.
I just love this musical conversation. A cacophonous pleasure, this tweeting, laced with the duet of bees buzzing.
The world is flourishing in a kaleidoscope of vivid colors. The nectar is sweet. The pulp is rich.
IN my recent life in Israel, spring often meant a little picnic trip to Givat Haturmusim, Lupine Hill. Just a short drive from Jerusalem, where spring springs a tad later than the rest of the country, this hill is the sight of the famous battle of long ago between David and Goliath.
The actual battle took place in the Tel Elah valley between Givat Haturmusim and its neighboring hill, Tel Azekah.
Nowadays, on Givat Haturmusim, there is not a hint of this more volatile time. It is so quiet and serene. The hill is a carpet of color, a melange of purple-blue, white and red waving in the breeze.
Millions of delicate paperlike petals light up this verdant green vale as far as the eye can see. It is covered in kalaniyot, anemone or poppy in English.
The kalaniyot, these red petaled poppies, are a popular wildflower in Israel. They are everywhere.
Even though the memorial day flower in Israel, a symbol for remembering our fallen soldiers, is the more thistle-like Everlasting Flower, whenever I see meadows of kalaniyot I always think of the poem In Flanders Field, written by John McCrae the day after he buried his friend in a field of poppies.
Kalaniyot are rich in bloom right around Yom Hazikaron, and I cant help but graft the meaning and purpose from WW I onto these innocent scarlet red flowers. It sounds gruesome, but, yes, poppy red, like the blood of those soldiers who have fallen.
OK, no more sadness. We are talking about springtime! The glorious, light-filled reawakening from winters dark slumber. Lets get back to that. Daffodils! Narkissim! These grow in abundance in Israel, along with the bright yellow forsythia and mini daisies. Both bloom there like a weed. Or the dainty, feminine, two tone magenta and blushing pale pink, pointy-petaled cyclamen the beloved rakefet.
Daffodils, by Wordsworth another, yet softer poem in the company of all these lovely and gorgeous flowers I think of!
BUT if I have to choose a rite of spring that is international for me and transcends a geographic location . . . one that is enjoyed indoors before one has even explored the blooming outdoors . . . more than a boat ride or bike ride through Central Park, more than a picnic among the flowers . . . even a hike in the Rockies . . . is spying those first spring fruits and vegetables and cooking them up! The first stalks of glowing pink rhubarb, the grassy green simple asparagus spears, the flowering olive branch colored artichokes.
Should I make a warm pot full of rhubarb and strawberries laced with white wine and kissed with vanilla or lemon?
Should I steam the asparagus, or roast it with just a sheen of olive oil and a sprinkling of coarse salt? And those artichokes . . .
It is all such a pleasure. In spring, you dont need a special occasion to feel like dressing up a little, or feeling especially happy. The arrival of spring is just such a special occasion in and of itself.
I plan on enjoying this springtime special occasion to its fullest, until such time as peonies, peaches and lemonade come a knocking at my door.
