It's official: spring is here. Farmer's markets start this week. CSA pick-up kicks off next week. And my tangled bunch of herbs awaits a new patch of earth to make themselves at home in.
Summer in D.C. is a thing to be avoided at all costs. But the fantastic springiness of the transition from winter to summer here makes it all worthwhile. (At least until August hits in all its swampy glory.)
Having grown up in VT where the season between snow and summer is aptly called mud season I revel in the true spring I get here complete with cherry blossom, azaleas, lilacs, dogwoods and all manner of allergy inducing pretties. And best of all: some of the edible signs of spring that I'd only heard tales of before moving here.
We're poised on the cusp of that moment when all the teasing flowers and rain will come to fruition and life will be delicious (and local) again. I've already splurged on early ramps. Now I'm chomping at the bit for more local arugula, early greens, perfect asparagus and the tumble of vegetables to follow.
I have visions of farmers markets dancing in my head. I'm happy to let someone else express it for me.
Today by Billy Collins
If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.