They kept coming for almost a month.
They came in waves the first three weeks – huge V’s in the sky, big slow-moving, graceful birds in massive formations. When they met another V, they would break apart and wheel and swirl and greet each other in what looked from the ground like the joy of old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. Then they re-formed into a W and continued north.
They are the cranes. I am told they come every year, but this is the first time I have seen it.
I heard their cry first – a “Br-r-rak, br-r-rak, br-r-rak” above me as I stood in the back yard. I scanned the sky and then saw them, the first big V I took notice of, just as it flew overhead (and I realized I should not be looking up at such big birds with my mouth open). Then another wave came, and another, and another, for the whole day. And for weeks after. I got the feeling I was witnessing something ancient, something primal (maybe because it IS ancient and primal). A symbol of yet another trip around the sun.
Every spring triggers something in us hidden deep in our lizard brain. For me, it is when the year truly begins and I open the drapes and welcome in the sun. A chance to start over. A chance to grow something, a chance for travel that was denied by the winter, a chance that this year will be better than ever. And then the panic sets in – the gut-wrenching obsession that every minute counts between now and December, and I’d better get busy.
Busy, that is, starting seedlings and thinking about my garden; inviting guests for March Madness games; planning a trip to see my sister, in North Carolina; getting the taxes ready; and seeing the friends I myself haven’t seen in years, and whirling and dancing with them the way the cranes do.
But not spring cleaning.
I don’t do spring cleaning; I’ve never seen the point in it. Why should I bust my backside getting every square inch of the house spotless when – if I have my way and everything goes right – my countless guests, pesky dogs and handyman/farmer husband will mean tracked-in mud, extra cooking spills, grass stains on the ottoman, sawdust and bent nails on the hall table, and sand in the shower. Yeah, I’ll keep it livable, but fall is when I really do my scrubbing – before I close the house up for the winter. Then winter is so much more pleasant, in a clean house.
That kind of cleaning – right down to the baseboards – takes me almost a month and I’m only gonna do it once a year. There’s too much other glorious living to do, and it’s much more important to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tombstone inscription that read “I wish I’d spent more time cleaning.”
Is housework important to you? Why or why not?
Do you do spring cleaning?
Are you currently getting rid of stuff – a topic I will cover in the next blog?