As a family, we mark our years in seasons; we acknowledge the season by noticing it fully and living in it as much as we can. Two spring seasons ago this time of year was unbearably hot. Last spring season it was unusually wet. This season is late, but just about right in its sun-to-rain ratio. And we’ll remember it not by the date on the calendar, but in how blue the bluebells were (darker than two years ago, not as blue as last year’s), and in how many snails and bugs we found.
Another bluebell nature walk. Another chance to catch our breath at the sight of a carpet of blue throughout the woods. Another chance to be the first to spot the white one. Another chance to listen for the cuckoo (not today).
As we hurtle around the sun, dates and times and calendars zipping by we know deep in our bones where we are on this journey by listening to what nature is saying, where the shadows lie, how the air feels. I know my babes are imbibing these small cues, inheriting their human instincts and mixing them with day-to-day experience out there, in the woods, in nature. They already know so much. And it was never from a book. We don’t try to imbibe the meal by reading the recipe; we actually eat from it everyday. We taste it first-hand. We learn by doing until we know, deep in our bones.
And today I was so, so grateful for that.