Everything seems new and exciting again, as life bursts forth with little green leaves. Only the bulbs jumped the gun in February, and the nectarine tree, that is leafed out and ready. The other trees were waiting for a sign.
That sign came last week in the form of a long, hard rain in a series of storms. Thunder and lightning rain, buckets of rain, puddle and irrigation ditch-filling rain. The coyotes backed off and the egrets returned, and a loud chatter of light-hearted celebration came from the trees. We sat together and watched the miracle. 
Mud is a dog's delight, and the rags at the door tell of abundance, and gooey balls coated in grass and leaves. Emerald has sprung up the drive, in the yards, on the burn pile. Fat and happy ground squirrels saunter around, a bit sluggish after their rest, but still quicker than the dogs. Now begins scheming season for clever ways to make the yard as un-hospitable as possible. 
The excitement builds at the sight of the majestic trees with tiny green leaves, knowing what is in store: tractor dust in our teeth, a spring garden, aching backs and stacks of canning jars all over the counter. Who's to say what the season will hold: a pergola, maybe? A bottle windbreak? For sure, a bigger garden with more composting, and a tighter, better mosquito/gnat repellent. 
I get that springtime fluttery, soft excitement again like I am meeting up with someone just returned from a long trip. It's spring! Welcome home. It still amazes us that this old, forlorn house sandwiched in-between farms somehow found us. Every day, it carries us along like the seasons, surprising and challenging us to participate in its journey. Try it! Grow it! Thrive. Thank you, house: don't mind if we do.
