Winter Descends - Beginnings and Endings
Mar 17, 2021
This week we pass one of the natural borders of our year. Saturday, March 20, is the vernal equinox.
It marks the beginning of spring.
Now "vernal equinox" may sound fancy, but when you break it down, "vernal" is Latin for "spring," and "equinox" is Latin for "equal night." It is just that day in the spring when the day and the night are equal.
Its passing is important for several reasons.
For one, it is the first day of spring, and that is always a good thing. In many civilizations, the coming of spring meant the beginning of a new cycle. It meant the end of winter's hardships and a build-up to summer's bounty and the promise of fall's harvest.
Unlike our arbitrary calendar that marks the new year in the middle of a planetary season, spring means it is time to plant, prepare, hunt, and gather. Activities change around the changing of the seasons.
But with each beginning comes an ending.
The coming of spring marks the end of winter—the end of time for quiet reflection. The end of time to catch up on reading. The end of cozy fires with the family.
I live in California, and for much of the Western US, the end of winter marks the end of our rainy season. We measure carefully to predict whether we have enough water to get through until the rains return.
I remember the first year I lived in Phoenix. I was acutely aware of how little it rains in the desert, it being so different from the Northern New York lushness I grew up with. At one point near the beginning of spring, I chanced upon a news report saying we were 0.19 inches behind our average annual rainfall for that point in the year.
Then, to my amazement, it did not rain at all in April. Or May. Or June. Or July. None. Zero.
I thought that was incredible, so I looked up what that did in terms of where we were against our average annual rainfall.
Imagine my shock when I read we were still 0.19 inches below our expected level. Not only did we not get any rain, but we also did not expect any rain.
Until the monsoons came in August.
The world around us is full of natural beginnings and endings. Be we have become disconnected. We don't know those rhythms. We overlay and subdue the patterns of nature to fit our artificial boxes. A workday that lasts the same number of hours all the time. A week. A month. Oranges in August. Tomatoes in December.
We set our goals and our lives around these artificial constructs.
I am not advocating throwing away the advantages of an advanced civilization. And I am certainly in favor of tomatoes year-round.
But this week, during the time when the earth beneath us moves from one season to another, take a moment to mark the occasion. Ancient mystics used to dance naked beneath the moon. You can at least manage a smile, a moment outdoors to soak it in, to reconnect, to feel the warming of the dirt beneath you.
But if the dancing naked in the moonlight thing appeals to you, go for it.
-- Ron