Seasoning

Most Swedes agree that they have a lovely country in the summer, but then slip into a grumbling complaint about the reality of their 6-month winter. I can understand that, but in a way, I appreciate this 6-month divide, because it allows for me to explore two of my greatest hobbies without doing the other any injustice. I have slipped away from agriculture and nature in the past few months, not because my passion for it has dissolved in any way, but because there's not much to do when the ground is frozen and I don't have land of my own (not even a teeny garden.) I ache for the soil and can't wait to get my bare feet into it, but I also appreciate the stillness, darkness and lifelessness of this fall and winter, because I have to turn to the life within. It is perfect for writing and doing art, two other passions of mine that I never felt I could fairly explore in Hawaii, given that I was out in my garden whenever I had the chance. Thanks winter, for being so intense, it's really got my creative juices flowing!

That being said, I know that this winter has been "mild" by Swedish standards. I actually have to agree. I haven't suffered much, at least not as much as I'd imagined I would, as the sub-zeros didn't hit until a few weeks ago. But still, the lack of snow in the previous months made for an extremely dark, and wet winter. There's not much agricultural gain in lack of snow and presence of nearly freezing rain and no daylight. It has been difficult, but I think I slipped into super-acceptance-mode and just went with the flow and shwooop!—now the light is coming back. Soon(ish) it will be spring and the gardening can begin.

I've never actually had multiple plants legitimately die on me. That was a bit bruising to my ego, or should I say, thumb. The darkness suckles until life's milk has run dry. I've never had such un-luck with a rosemary plant or a geranium. Back in Hawaii, those were my Allstars, the plants that I could ignore for months and still sleep soundly at night knowing that they were just fine; although it was really only the tomato plants that kept me up at night (read posts from last 2012-early 2013 for clarification!) To watch a small, pink geranium wither away at my windowsill was a complex experience.

Firstly: the initial sadness that my plants died. I view plants kind of like babies. Especially if I've raised them into strong and reaching organisms that brighten up my life, it's no wonder that it hurts to watch them go.

Secondly: the bizarre concept that we have any control over nature, and think we have a right to keep plants alive, despite their instinct to die for the winter. It's like life-support in hospitals for those who clearly want to leave this earthly realm.

Thirdly: realizing the impact that a plant can actually have on happiness and mood. Let me be clear: the lack of light and sunshine is a recipe for depression, and anybody who hasn't experienced a 5-hour day (and 5 hours of grey skies) should try it and then go back to their bright homelands and really appreciate the sun when it's around. So, in the spell of this dark world, being in the presence of something green is almost like meeting God; and experiencing this being go is like watching a brother or a soldier go down.

And lastly: the acceptance that all things shall parish [under the sky] and that we too one day will go. There's no point in holding on to the things that pass, as they will slip through our fingers like glossy eels no matter how firmly we try to grab ahold of them. This notion has really helped me through the winter, that I am powerless to the forces of nature and Winter will do as he pleases: drain the life from my leafy companions or the color from my skin.

It has been a weird experience to watch herbs crumple into a crispy, dry and white-tinged soil, and to not even attempt to sprout anything. We've nearly reached the end of January and hopefully Spring will make an entrance in the next 2 months. Correction, not make an entrance, that she has already attempted. She needs to make the entrance, the lasting entrance. And here I falsely use the word lasting, as nothing is lasting, but the entrance that is sound until Summer strolls in, not too be stolen away again by a sweeping breeze of Winter. I'm personifying the seasons because they feel so close to me at the moment. I love them all in their challenges and their gifts to the world. I could, of course, grumble that my nose hasn't stopped running since September and that I miss wearing one layer of clothes, but it's not enough to conquer my smile every time I crunch through the snow. It's peaceful to be in tune with the seasons. I have to get in touch with nature somehow, and I've come to learn that she hasn't actually hasn't gone anywhere, I just had to figure out where to look, or rather, to stop looking, and start feeling.

All that being said, I still can't wait until I can run freely through the woods  like a sprite, wiggle my toes in the moss, climb trees in shorts and let my (hopefully by then longer) hair spiral and twist to the music of the wind. I can only think of Summer, because the last true Spring I experienced was probably when I was 4, and I don't think I cared too much. I don't actually know what Spring is like, and I'm curious to meet her. I can't wait until I can have green blades shooting up from egg cartons on my windowsill and flowers on the side of the road! Speaking of flowers, I've never really had them in vases until now—it's almost a necessity—and I'm amazed at how much tulips can grow in their vases. A friend recently enlightened me a bit in the area of tulip-care, and told me that they really do elongate. I almost didn't believe it, but within a day and a half, my tulip has gained 10 centimeters in height. Maybe it's from all the CO2 that my candles emit. But still...WHAT!? I love you nature, you are so cool! I can't wait until we can really be friends again and I can start a garden.

Until that time comes, I'm very happy to have the right to be inside and drawing and writing as much as I please. It's a luxury I didn't have in Hawaii, where I was always at work (actual work, or work at home), always stressed out, and in those rare moments of free time, always outside. Now I can sit and doodle and create and it's totally okay, because there are no lettuces in need of de-snailing and no tomatoes whining for my attention like babies with separation anxiety. And now that I've started working as a nanny for two children and a baby, I've got plenty of whining on my plate, but that's a joy too!

Side Note: Now I have the perfect means to be both Green Thumb and Paint Brush. Maybe I'll start writing on that blog a bit more. It was a long-distance attempt at a collaborative project. But maybe I can work on it myself since it never really went anywhere. Link is somewhere up on the tab bar...