Seasoning

Everyone has a favorite season, sometimes two.  I find that when I ask people them what their favorite season is, the answer is often "Summer" or "Autumn" and sometimes "Winter".  Rarely it seems do people think of Spring as a favorite season, although it's almost universally welcomed once we've reached that part of winter where the charm is gone; that part after all the holiday decor has been packed back away, when the snow and ice piles are no longer pristine but rather obstacles or eyesores.

When I reflect on the seasons, I can't help but find something to recommend each of them.  It is, after all, the Wheel of the Year, and as a Wiccan that has a particular resonance with me.  But if pressed on a favorite, I would have to say that my heart belongs equally to Spring and Autumn.

I love the silence that engulfs the world with a snowfall, and I find the first substantial snow of each year to be a time to truly listen to the quiet of the world. I like that the snow cover in the woods allows me to more easily see the deer before they come out to the yard. I enjoy watching the birds at the feeders, particularly just before or as it begins to snow. However, the magic pales after a time. Perhaps it's just that I weary of being cold, and of the long dark.

I probably like summer least of all, which surprises even me when I put it down in black and white. I enjoy a reasonable amount of warmth, but I despise humidity and oppressive heat. I dislike walking from a cold, air conditioned building into air that is so wet it stops your breath. Having grown up in a shore town, with the beach always accessible, usually the road there clogged with tourists, I have no desire to sit in the sun every weekend. Perhaps my dislike of crowds influences my opinion about the season.

The boundary seasons have my heart instead; spring and autumn.  As cliched as it might sound, the advent of spring truly is like being reborn.  The sun warms the earth, the first buds deliver the promise of life renewed, and the world is fresh and clean again. Even spring mud is more reminiscent to me of a new start than a sad ending.  I cherish each day that is warm enough to begin working in the gardens. I love to see the birds gathering their nest materials, and hear the insistent chirps of their young. I delight in the first sighting of baby skunks, the year's fawns, and even the baby woodchucks.  

New plants go in, pots and planters for the porch are filled with a riot of color, the hoses brought back out for watering, the faucets turned back on. The porch is made comfortable and inviting again, hanging plants inviting bees and hummingbirds to stop in for a time.  The chipmunks reappear, begging for sunflower seeds and raiding the thistle feeders. I end my days with soil under my nails and on the knees of my jeans, and I couldn't be happier for it.

When the heat of summer diminishes, the first chilly nights and mornings begin, I once again find myself spending more time outdoors than in.  Watching the trees wrap themselves in yellow, orange and red tell me those leaves will soon be on the ground.  But before that, we will be treated to an extravaganza of color, a fashion show put on by the goddess herself.  For me, it means time to prepare. As the squirrels hide acorns and stolen seeds, as the chipmunks fill their cheeks and then their dens with food for the winter, I clean the bird feeders and lay in a supply of suet and sunflowers, thistle and mixed seed.  I cut back iris and peony, bee balm and salvia, preparing the garden for winter's rest.

The deer return, this year's fawn nearly grown, but still acting silly.  I check the supply of sweet feed in the sun room, and add bags of apples to my grocery list. It's time to remind them of where they can be assured of, if not a complete meal, at least a tasty snack. As the autumn progresses, I dream more of a sun-shed for potting plants and breathing in the earthy smell of plant starts at the other side of winter. The porch cushions come inside to be washed and stored until spring comes around in her time.

This is the season of completion, the season of harvest, the season where we see what we have accomplished as we prepare to rest through the winter and start again in the spring, gods willing. This year, the autumn has taken a larger toll than usual - the loss of my mother, my friend and my cousin. I try to keep it in perspective, try not to let it diminish my love for this time of year. Pete Seeger took words from the Christian book of Ecclesiastes and put them in the form of a song - these are the words that come to mind as I contemplate the turning of the Wheel of the Year:

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance"