Yesterday morning, I woke up to a world quenched from gentle overnight rains. This was a nice reprieve from the wind-whipped shards of water that have pummeled us several times over the past weeks. Those storms certainly didn’t jibe with the soft imagery that accompanies ‘April showers bring May flowers’, I can tell you. That said, a life by the sea – even in a protected cove – is not for the faint of heart when it comes to the weather.
I don’t want to jinx it (my neighbors are cringing right now, hoping I don’t say it…) but I think the snow may be in our rear view mirror.
It will probably snow next week, with local friends texting and e-mailing photographic proof along with some good-natured cursing (and maybe some not so good natured. When we are done with snow… we are DONE with snow!)
There are affirming activities happening here though, signs that other humans are deeming it safe to dip their toes into spring’s offerings.
Docks and floats, removed before winter’s ice and storms, are slowly re-appearing in front of neighbors’ homes. The ‘summer water’ (really ‘town water’, but turned on only between about late April through mid October) is on, and cottage caretakers are busily working through their list of installing the necessary meters and turning the valves that make it possible (well, at least more convenient) for folks to visit their homes here for The Season.
All these activities make the area just a little bit more bustle-y, as more energy is put into the outsides of our houses, shops, and gardens. They bring with them more opportunities to smile and wave as we from our winter semi-hibernations. And there seems to be an observable increase in handshakes… and hugs.
There is not only joy, but beauty in these connections
The sounds of ambient people, openly and comfortably coming together – whether at a deli counter or a street corner – has stopped me in my tracks more than once lately, grateful tears threatening. Being present in those moments, drinking them in… gifts.
‘We need each other’ has been humming in the brain of this introvert. The irony is not lost on my heart or soul. Both smile in that quiet New England way of, ‘I’m not going to tell you I think you’re right. I’ll let my smile and barely-there nod suffice.’ The Old Yankee Man had that move down pat.
This morning, in a group text conversation among neighbors, one friend noted that another had put out her Adirondack chairs for the season. I went to my window to check and, sure enough, the cheerful red chairs are in place across the cove from me.
I stayed by my window for a minute or so, noting the outdoor furniture showing up on more porches and patios, waterside yards and gardens. A few more docks and floats are in place. More than one boat has zipped by our house this week, paying little attention to the ‘No Wake!’ rule, so early in the season. A walk outside brought the sweet sounds of ambient people to my ears, folks working and talking and laughing along our little street and from across the water.
In this place, spring does bring the rain (and some pretty good mud), but it also sprinkles the upcoming season’s useful and playful and restful things into the world outside my window. This readying for longer hours spent in fresh air, under the sun and stars, has this incredible side benefit of reconnecting us to each other.
And it is not lost on me that these connections… to other people, in person, are what we need… perhaps more than ever…
To reconnect with ourselves.
Thanks for readin’.
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