Photo Essay (of sorts): Shedding and Emerging in the Mini-cycles of Spring

The exhaustion for coherent words is too deep. A photo essay of sorts. Of shifts. Of joy. Of grief. Of community. Seasonal love to Spring. Dirt is my therapy.

Spring, I thought, means a constant push of new growth until it peaks in the summer and then you collapse into the autumn leaves.

The modern cycles we learn is one of Nature’s VS work, with work winning every time.

Yet, another cycle - my own personal mini-cycles - has grown louder, often peaking at breaking points that give over in a surrendering way.

Images created for a client spring planning workshop I led last week.

When zoomed in, I relearn about those mini-cycles rise with peaks and dip with rests.

Yet, the beginning of a spring cycle is more than popping green everywhere. It also beckons for shedding and pruning of old. Some shedding does come at a forced point, like the sudden moldy death of my longtime kombucha scoby friend this past week. Whereas some shedding is more planned, like the pruning of old raspberry canes I did the other week. Other shedding is deeper and cues a more existential crisis type, like owing 12k on federal taxes at the junction when this regime continues to steal our collective future to line their pockets, bragging about it all the way to our faces. Fucccccckk.

And paired with those moments of spring shedding (forced or chosen), there has been quite the counter push of joyful emergence this week.

The Plum blooms.
The Grape Hyacinths smell sweet.
Rootful coleus from cuttings ready for potting.
Gooseberry leaves emerge protected by thorny stems.
Hoppin’ Hops leap by the minute.
And cucumber cotyledons emerge in crayola yellow-green.

Another beautiful emergence this week was community. After teaching a short Climate Resilience course at CSU’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute this Feb-March, a core group of them continue to meet. On Monday, I joined them on a field trip to our city/county landfill and recycling center. The information was gut hitting yet participating in this growing community of climate learners was healing!

Spring is intention. It’s a pulsation. A push and a release. Pauses for joy. Moments of cries.

Closing the laptop for the week. The exhaustion is a deep one this week. Dirt is always my therapy. I’m off to plant my seed potatoes. Two new to me types this year: Red Pontiac and Austrian Crescent Fingerlings.

Was that a grasshopper I heard flying! It’s too early…

The world doesn’t need more urgency; it needs more embodied, honest presence.