To me, each season has its smell. Of dry earth and brittle leaves in the fall, of snappy icy air in winter, of rich soil in spring. I thought of that as I went out to feed the animals this morning. Wet earth and emerging grasses. Composting old leaves and the tips of edible chives. A heavenly, earthy smell!
Breakfast, where the smell most definitely is of hyacinths.
And then I do something that the pandemic had postponed for me: I visit the dentist to have an implant screwed in (they do it with a little wrench, I swear!). If you've ever had an implant put in, you'll know it's a long process with many steps to it: pull the offending chomper out, make all sorts of impressions, put in a post, then finally screw in the implant. I had done it all, the whole lead-up, in the months before the pandemic. But just as I was scheduled to have that fake new guy put in, the country locked down and so the implant vegged out at the dentist's office. I would get reminders every few months that it's still there, resting and waiting. Still, I refused to make an appointment. Coffee shop, restaurant, grocery store. Hair salon, post office, medical clinic. Drugstore, gardening store, dentist. All used to be part of my regular rotation and the pandemic wiped them completely out of my orbit. Only this month (post vaccinations), have I stepped into a doc's office and today -- into a dentist's office.
And it's so strange! Like returning to Paris! Such familiar territory! Well, sort of familiar. In the year I've been away, my doctor's office moved to another part of town. My eye doctor's clinic now faces a brand new hotel. Just like that! Cropped up in the former parking lot. And my dentist's office is looking out on a huge, brand new retirement complex. Pandemic or not, the world did not completely freeze in March 2020.
I chatted to the dentist a bit. Because I have terribly needy postwar Poland teeth, I know the guy well. We've spent many hours staring at each other's faces. He told me about his wife (a middle school teacher) who spread out all her teaching tools on the dining room table, worked long hours to meet the demands of remote learning and often cried herself to sleep at night. About his first trip to see the grandkids in Chicago this month. About friends who left town (Madison had a huge surge in infections this Fall). About the year that was, and the hope for one that's a hell of a lot better ahead of us.
Back at the farmette, it starts to rain. Not a big rain at first, but a spring shower. The kind you normally see in April. The earth will have an even more pungent smell to it. Heavenly stuff!
And then the rain intensifies. This is a gardener's gift! Permission to not work. To stretch out with your toys, if you're a cat.
To put your feet up and finish the mystery you've been reading if you're me. To even take a nap! My Fitbit count is lower than low and what are you going to do... it's raining! Blissful, spring rain, coming down to bathe the winter earth and freshen it up for what's ahead.
