April 4th, 2007, Wednesday
Here’s Michigan weather for you: bright and nearly seventy yesterday – windy and near freezing today. It was snowing the last I looked. But I don’t mind. And I refuse to say it is miserable outside! No! It is beautiful.
It depends on how you look at it.
March 12th, 2008, Wednesday
I’m outside on the swing, reveling in the sunshine and slight breeze of a deliciously cool day in March.
Uncle Bruce is off for a run on the quiet road, with Sarah behind him on her bike. Dad just pulled in – the rest of the kids are ranging all over the farm, dashing about in hooded sweatshirts and light jackets, riding Sally or just running around the barns and playing with the goats.
Oh, this day reminds me of what it means for winter to die, for spring and summer to be marching in with a green banner and swords of sun and thunder. And a hundred flashes of days past rise up and laugh: rock hunting in the driveway, walking barefoot in the garden at dusk in May as we help Uncle Bruce plant corn – the smell that hangs in the air after the lawn has been cut on a summer’s eve, and you lay there on the soft grass and listen to the far-off din of the mower, and the shrieks of the kids playing on the swing-set and in the playhouse.
March 26th, 2008, Wednesday
After the blizzard on the twenty-first, Andrea’s birthday, it is wonderful to see the sun up and blazing through the clouds in the sky above. I’m sitting out on the porch with a coat on and am beginning to shiver – it’s pleasant out, but chill nevertheless. You should hear the birds – it’s easy to tell they’re glad in this day. And there – in the distance a tractor chugs.
April 17th, 2008, Thursday
The wind is thundering softly in the tree-tops – if you look very closely, you can see new leaves at the tips of the branches. I’m heading for bed now, but I wish I could spend the night walking, wandering under a sky still touched with the light of the vanished sun, listening to the spring peepers singing by the creek, where the willow trees are already misted greenly.
Yes – spring is here again!
March 6th, 2009, Friday
Nearly 70 degrees outside! What gloriousness! The sun is blazing from a hazy blue sky. Spring skies are so pale and bright – not like autumn. Autumn is the deepest, richest blue you could wish for. I adore these early days of spring – you can smell fresh life hidden beneath the brown grass and bare branches, and the sun is hot on your hair and sickly, winter-white skin.
March 14th, 2009, Saturday
Well, you know I’m not much of a morning person, but I went out early (for a Saturday) to do chores, and the whole farm was frost-covered, and the cornfield was hazy in mist. The eastern horizon was red behind the trees, and the moon was hanging, low and bright, in the west. It was so quiet you could hear the mourning doves, and the woodpeckers, and Wilson howling at the deer crossing the field.
March 15th, 2009, Sunday
It’s a beautiful day today – blue sky, bright wisps of cloud. There was a flock of Sandhill Cranes wheeling in the winds above the church.
March 10th, 2010, Wednesday
I had me a walk outside whilst the family watched a movie. These late winter nights have been lovely: clear, cool, and filled with the gurgle of Mill Creek, swollen with melting snow, a far-off owl hooting in the wood, and starlight glimmering in the heavens.
This reminds me – I had an idea for a poem while riding Isabel’s bike on the road yesterday, but now it’s gone. Ah, well! I’m not much of a poet.
March 11th, 2011, Friday
I stayed in bed too long – that’s why time goes so quickly. It’s after twelve, I’m still in PJs, and I’ve accomplished nothing. But it’s a beautiful day. The sun is fierce in a blue and white-clouded sky, and it looks warm out there.
Oh, I can’t be depressed. Winter is over. Maybe not quite officially, but, for all practical purposes. Over! It’s only going to get warmer and warmer, and the trees are going to put forth delicate green buds, and the ground will become soft and begin to smell like new grass and the creek will flood and – oh! I wish I wasn’t going to be at school!
That’s the trouble with springtime – it’s so gorgeous and joyous and glorious that books and papers and things seem small and petty and very silly.
April 9th, 2011, Saturday
It’s a lovely evening. I walked over here with my jacket hung over my arm. It’s just too nice. Took a leisurely stroll around the pond before dressing to come over here. I watched the water, and the ducks and the red-winged blackbirds. Everything is so lovely this time of year. The world seems to delight in something – seems to love you and want you.
April 14th, 2011, Thursday
I love the seasons. I love how they creep up on you. One day, you’re walking along – and then WHAM! You look up and it’s springtime. Winter’s gone.
Today was one of those days. I took a walk around the pond and even though it was chilly, I soaked up the sun, and saw green buds coming up out of the bush-tangle . . . And the willow trees are wearing misty-green cloaks of tiny leaves – we’re halfway through April!
April 18th, 2011, Monday
It’s snowing! There’s a good two inches of heavy, wet, white stuff on the ground and still falling. Spring, where art thou?
April 26th, 2011, Tuesday
It’s been a peculiar day for weather – I love it.
It was one of those days that’s gray overhead, but in such a way that the land below becomes warm and deeply colorful. The grass was lush and wet and green – the tree branches were dark with rain, so that the new green buds frosting the twig-tips shone bright against the brown bark. The air was warm so that the rain felt sharp and silver, but clear and kindly and brisk at the same time.
Angela and I got caught in quite the shower as we walked from library to dinner in the cafeteria, but as soon as we settled in to our food, it cleared up very nicely. The daffodils and lovely purple blossoms around campus stood up tall and beautiful in their coats of rain-drops, and this evening, when Angela and I got back from Baker Book House the sky was a tumult of clouds: some long and gray and ragged against the silver-gray of dying western sunlight, and others far-away giants – white mountains stretching over half the sky.
I wanted to go flying or something.
March 6th, 2012, Tuesday
I’ve just come in from outside, where warm winds blow from the southwest, tossing bare and evergreen branches joyously – so loud it’s like roaring laughter – laughter at the melted snow, the squishing mud, the beaten grass, leftover from last year but still green.
February is over. Spring is coming. The wind today, and the sunshine, mixed together into a 60-some degrees Fahrenheit that makes the bones sing. At four-thirty, I slipped out into the musty-smelling darkness of the Red Barn to work on my muscles. Not sure of the good my pitiful attempts did, but, I felt better afterwards, and then took a walk with Wilson and Lyza.
The boots I wore were too big, but so scruffy and worn they were well-suited to the squelching mud among the dead corn stalks past the lane. Up and up I went, into the depths of the field – until I climbed to the top of the field’s highest knoll, where I could survey the farm, all awash with bright yellow late-afternoon sun, shining off the metal roofs of the green barn and the tin shed, and glinting off the corn stalks, of all things, so that the field lying before me shimmered golden under the clean blue of the sky.
This is my Shire. I met Olivia on my way back, and walked with her. I could hear the shouting laughter of the other girls in the hay meadow. I could hear red-winged blackbirds for the first time, today. It is . . .
Well, it just is. And that is enough, for now.
March 11th, 2012, Sunday
If this is my Shire, what does that make Cornerstone?
Took a walk, underneath glowing blue sky and warm sun, watching Wilson poke through dry cornstalks, and listening to distant planes slicing through the atmosphere and leaving wakes like their wings stirred the water of a great, deep, overhead ocean.
April 7th, 2012, Saturday
It’s been a good day. Got up at eleven, sat and read, sat and listened to music, ate lunch, lazed around while Mom did a fury of cooking. I think that makes me a bad daughter, but I was a decent sister this afternoon, I think. The weather was so lovely, all sunshine and blue sky over tilled brown fields and breeze in green-budded branches and the smells of lilac and sun-dried cut grass on soft wind. So I and Iz and Annie and Olivia and eventually Cara and Alissa and Anna got dressed up and went outside to play at Dark Ages.
April 19th, 2012, Thursday
Calvin Festival of Faith and Writing! 4:30 pm and I’ve heard so much. How can I go through it all and think properly about it?
The day began warm and humid, all sun and blue sky. It is now gray and green and wet, but the birds are singing and the flowers at this school look to be laughing. Red berries shining from between glistening dark green leaves – purple, lilac-like flowers pulling green stems down to soft brown ground – yellow and orange pointed tulips standing all covered in raindrops.
It’s perfectly lovely.
May 1st, 2012, Tuesday
9 pm. It’s been a while since I’ve slept, but I am . . . content. Thankful. I’m “good,” as they say.
Been for a walk around the pond . . . Cool, gray, whispering evening. The kind of evening that smells of cold water and green, green grass. And the sun had left the sky full of silver and blue clouds – sky reflected silver and rippling in the pond as the golden lights of Pickitt and Hansen began to come on in the dusk. And it struck me as so beautiful – the whole grand picture of things – so alive.
The red-winged blackbirds singing in the maple trees and the smell of the honeysuckle bush beside the little apple tree on the other side of the pond, and the distant laughter of young men and women clustered on the newly-cut grass, and the traffic running on the roads, roaring in the distance to remind all that there is a great life to be had out there – an even bigger horizon to discover. I felt small underneath the great expanse of darkening sky, and so filled with good things.
April 11th, 2014, Friday
For the first time since August, I’m sitting on the front porch in a patch of morning sunlight, while Jiggs rolls in the dust, purring deep in his throat. The birds have returned: robins, red-winged blackbirds, Sandhill Cranes, and a host of them are singing in the highest tree branches above the house.
March 31st, 2016, Thursday
Sitting on my back stoop, with a tomato and a salt-shaker in hand this evening. Sparta’s all lit up in the darkness – robins and sparrows are chirp-chipping up in the maple branches and a chill, after-rain breeze is blowing the sound of spring peepers my way. It is peaceful, and beautiful, and makes coming back into the house, to write here and think about things, easier. Taking a tiny moment outdoors to be refreshed reminds me of the way I used to take walks around Cornerstone’s pond. Getting away – looking at the sky – listening to birds and frogs – it all reminded me how big the world is.
April 26th, 2016, Tuesday
. . . and this journal is for spring. Violets and daffodils and new grass and green buds on the ends of bare branches – all of Sparta is blooming under the sunshine, waking up, shaking off dead leaves and starting to smell again, of earth and pollen and buzzing insects. There’ve been roaring thunderstorms all over the state today – powerful enough to shake the floor – and in-between there’s blue sky and gray clouds blowing wildly away.
It’s so pretty. Like a postage-stamp town. Like radio theater or an old play or the Anne movies. It makes me want to set a pie on the windowsill and buy gardening clothes. Or garden until the clothes I’m wearing at the time become too dirty to be used as anything but gardening clothes.
May 15th, 2017, Monday
I’m sitting out in the sunshine, in my backyard swing, as birds chatter from the surrounding tree branches and four o’clock sunlight pours from hot blue sky. It’s a beautiful day, still part of my weekend. The restaurant is closed and tutoring won’t begin until after Memorial Day weekend – after Paul’s visit and Vanessa’s wedding and the first Sonnenberg family picnic of the summer. Tony’s off to work and the neighborhood is quiet . . .
March 18th, 2018, Sunday
The sun! Is so – bright! Pale sky and white sunlight blazing on brown, dead fields and bare branches: that is quintessential March. But we’re only a few days from the beginning of spring, now, and soon the world will turn warm and green and new again.
May 8th, 2018, Tuesday
“It’s summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime . . .”
jk. It’s not summertime. Summertime’s not ’til mid (post-mid) June. But it’s warm, and green, and lovely. Every growing thing in the country has exploded into bushy spring leaf, dandelions and violets are bobbing up out of the lawn, and giant farm equipment is thundering up and down Sparta main street as the farmers get as much planting in as possible between rainstorms.
I also check obsessively for caterpillars, but that’s another story.
And I do have this tree in my backyard.
And here we are once again. =]
Spring is coming.