Seasons of change

There's something mysterious yet so inspiring about seeing something growing, especially form a bare, seemingly lifeless tree following the anticipation of a coming Springs blossoms. You could say that each season has a beginning, but more so its a transition, the natural change and progression from what was before, to what is next. After rather a number of years we've developed a knowledge and whole categories of memories that remind us of what defines our Summer and Autumn and Winter and Spring. Each arriving season has something new and different from the months before, that gives life a marvelous variety.



Yet I hear so many people complain about the cold and rain of Winter, always waiting for Summer to arrive again. Although, in their endless desire for Summer sun they miss the abundance of growth and change in all the wonders of the other seasons. I enjoy so much finding contentment in every day, of every season because it offers me that variety, the ability to find inspiration in the newness, and an acceptance of the inevitability that every season will absolutely always change. Just like the environment has changing seasons, our lives have seasons too. Those natural transitions from what was before, to what is next. So maybe they're not quite as definable or anticipatable as the revolving seasons that we know in any given year, but no less, things inevitably change.

Over the last few years, during the most recent season of my life, I've developed a love for the dormancy of Winter. Not to mention baking fresh hot bread and brewing up soup to eat by a blazing fire sitting wrapped in a charming old woolen blanket, engulfed in the pages of an adventure with my little man; or that safety and comfort found in the sound of the rain on the roof; or collecting scarves, or one of many other winter pleasures I'm discovering each time the cooler season passes. But its one of those lasting passions that will stay with me from here on in, throughout every transition in my life.

It brings winter to life. It also provides plenty of days inside to sew, to create, to bake and concoct deliciousness in the cast iron of a vintage casserole dish. It offers time to explore those forgotten childhood passions, or the time to nurture new ones with your own children with their fresh and inspiring new childhood enthusiasm. It may even allow you the possibility of excavating those dusty, sometimes disregarded, corners of your own life. Those corners like wardrobes and cuppoards that can so easily be neglected when trying to absorb every ray of sunshine, or in ones gloomy, unenthusiastic state during these suggested, oh so awful months of Winter.

Winter for me has its own thoroughly appealing uniqueness. Underneath all the wet and beneath the bareness of seemingly lonely branches battered by Winter winds. There's a lingering and secret, vibrant growth that's waiting and maturing, huddled away from the cold until it's just the right time to burst into life. Equally we all have those dormant seasons in our lives. Those that sometimes may not seem all that comfortable or encouraging, and most of us are waiting for the sun to hurry up and return. But, to find an ease and an acceptance in the dormancy of a season, and to live within it trusting in that things will again change. Then every day can be far more rewarding, not just those beaming-hot summer days that I can guarantee simply wont endlessly shine.

I've eagerly anticipated Spring, and not because I couldn't wait to see the back of Winter like most, but because all of the new life and growth about emits something quite different than that of Winter. There's a whole changing season of possibilities on the horizon. But lets not forget that all the tender blossoms and beauty that's upon this first tip of the new season, is partly the hard work of the past Winter months. Its like a little reward for our patience and for enduring the handful of colder months, before the grounds offerings of the next several months of plentiful growth to explore, out amongst the breeze, and yes, those beloved summer days.

Once...

There once was a young boy who lived with his father in a little old cottage on a hill. Their wee house sat at the farthest end of the grassiest field, just a hop-skip-and-jump from the sea side. It was not an uncommon scene to see the two of them trail along the rivers side foraging for wild herbs, on a meandering afternoon to visit the ocean. And everyday they would again return home to their little wooden house, where seemingly magical things would happen. For one, the constant passing breeze never ceased to be filled with the most wonderful smells that had wafted from their kitchen, where they would cook until the sun would go down, beyond their hill, and their hideaway house.

As far as the boy was concerned his father knew near everything there was to know. But unbeknownst to him, everyday while he went to school to learn arithmetic, and to read of Alice and her wonderland, and to play skip rope, his father would be home reading.  

He buried his head amongst the pages of books, always absorbing and consuming any number of marvelously interesting new facts. Those facts that in turn would allow him to continue the illusion, that in fact he did know near everything there was to know.. Many a new thing his father would learn on those days, acquiring the knowledge and developing the skills of almost anything he wished to learn. Each day, upon his sons return from school, he would teach him of the most wonderful and rewarding lessons in life, and of the vast array of experiences he could, and would have. They spent their days learning of life together, and in doing so lived their lives with abundance, and with a passion, simply for living.

However, amongst those pages that each day his father would read, he’d also discover things that weren’t all that wonderfully cherry, and others that imitated memories of a life he’d once lived before. Although, no longer did those burdens and heartaches weigh heavy on his heart. But, they did allow him one long, deep, breath at a time, to begin to figure out just what this life consisted of. Many things of this world didn’t seem to add up all that well, and many an unpleasant thing was happening beyond the protection of their haven. He concluded that much investigation of these happenings would be necessary to know just the extent of it all, and if by any chance it could possibly be made better. Although this boys father may have not actually known near everything there was to know, he knew at least of the things that were necessary to be careful of, and of others to nurture, for with care, they could reach the depths of the soul.

The tales that are to follow, are the stories of those days and lives; Of living wholly, learning wisely, laughing loudly, and creating beauty, of collecting the past, upcycling the old, and hand-making the new. But mostly of loving life, for there is nothing else as pleasantly rewarding...