My first thought was that there is no reason for January. On January 1, I generally feel lack luster, unmotivated and tired from Christmas. Just getting down the decorations and harvesting the dust bunnies takes most of my energy the first week. My resolutions have new motivations with a wedding in the planning. And I am somewhat proud that my first resolution this year is not to lose weight, although it is my fourth.
By the second week, I am scanning the yard looking for green, impatient for spring. I can't dig in the dirt because it is too cold but the yard is so barren of color, it feels like I need to dig in the dirt. I really want to plant those bulbs I didn't in the fall. Frustrated I haul out a shovel and test the soil to see if I could plant. I notice our carport has a new collection of dry leaves, blown ahead of December snow storms. I ignore both jobs because it feels too cold to clean or dig outside. The excitement of new December snow has melted into the inconvenience of dealing with its accumulation. Gray skies seem to extend downward to the frozen ground and snow lined roads; slushy mushy mess, that discourages my wanderings and muddy ups the floor when the grandkids come.
Toward the middle of the month, there are some clear days and when the inversion lifts, the air feels clean and frosty. Yesterday's sky looked like a blue Caribbean sea hovering over the pristine mountains freshly dusted with snow. The sunsets have been phenomenal, framed in the skeletal branches around our house and reflecting on the snow fields. Deer come daily to forage around my shrubs for any green, (like me, wishing for spring) leaving us gathered around the windows watching their grace and soft brown eyes widen as they search for us. In the orchard, Stan found a forgotten bundle of apples protected from the cold by multiple tarps. He transfered them to the refrigerator for our winter apple crunch. I can smell the cinnamon just thinking about those apples.
In the fourth week, January sends us a magical snow. Everything is frosted again like a flocked Christmas tree, snow edging every limb, branch and twig. Limbs bend from the weight, I anticipate an afternoon thaw which doesn't come, only more snow layering the first flakes with others extending the magical scenery. I think this is as beautiful as my yard has ever been, coated in white, sparkling, new snow. As I drive to the mall, a dog is perched on the sidewalk outside his house sitting and looking at the snow. Further down the road, a group of grade school children have rolled the snow down their sidewalk into a gigantic white ball, larger than their little brother. Watching them struggle gleefully to push this further, I want to help too. Cars are moving slowly. All of us are moving slowly, admiring the snow and cautious of the danger of slippery roads. Snow seems so quiet, so simple and sparkling despite the gray skies above.
It is the January 28 and the magical snow is melting. All that muddy soft dirt cries for planting. I am mentally making a note that it is time to coat the grass with pre-emergence chemicals. January is almost over and I can see many reasons for January. Its like that magical snow. Quietly we realign our life. Our New Year's resolutions have time to bud and grow. And there is time to plan the garden. A new beginning, a fresh start. January
