Those famous April showers arrived a day early and then stayed on for most of the week. Early Monday morning, the last day of March, I was awakened by the sound of rain on the porch roof. One of the benefits of having a metal roof, besides its durability, is hearing the rain falling on it. I like the sound. The rain was a mixed blessing. It helped perk up the world from its winter sleep. The grass began to green. The buds on the trees began to swell. But it also kept me from doing some much needed work in the garden. Things that needed planting had to wait. And wait. And wait. Every day I would dash outside when the rain had let up and work as quickly as I could before it began again, but much of the time I had to sit and twiddle my thumbs. I kept telling myself that at least it was rain and not snow. I prefer puddles over drifts. And according to the proverb, these showers will bring us flowers in May, so there's that.
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| A patch of squill blooming in the long border. |
During those interminable spells of uncooperative weather, my frustration at being idle launched me into daydreaming about going someplace warm and dry and exotic for a while. If you can't get anything done here, my brain says, why not take a break and escape to someplace nice? My discontent was also partly Robert Louis Stevenson's fault. After finishing and enjoying Travels With a Donkey, I went to the library and checked out several other travel books – Venice by Jan Morris, and The Pillars of Hercules: A Grand Tour of the Mediterranean by Paul Theroux. I'm reading Venice now and it's like a pleasant form of torture. These books cast volatile fuel on an already smoldering case of wanderlust.
This impulse to travel hasn't always been normal for me. For most of my life, I've been a confirmed homebody. I still am most of the time. I like knowing where things are and how things will go, predictable weather, expected behavior, a scheduled life. In my early years I had two experiences that reinforced this tendency. The first was when I left home for college in 1976. I was eighteen and had never been away from home for more than two weeks. That semester at BYU in Provo brought on my first bout of serious homesickness. I was only away for five months and I was only as far away as Utah (we lived in Naperville, Illinois, at the time), but it was difficult for me. I barely got through it – and my very mediocre grades were proof.
The second experience came shortly after that in 1978 when I embarked on a two year mission to Japan. It was an amazing experience living in a culture so different from anything I'd ever known, learning to speak a language unlike anything I'd ever heard. It was a great adventure, but underlying every day of my time there, was a simmering homesickness that ebbed and waned according to my circumstances. I learned to live with it and I didn't let it taint my love for Japan. After returning to the United States, I was content to just be home. By then my home was in Los Angeles, where my family had moved while I was away. Living there was almost like being in a foreign country, but I had my secure place. In a house. With my family. That was enough.
I did get a little restless at times. I daydreamed of going to places that I knew from my books – London, Vienna, Paris, Athens. I knew so much about them that people often assumed I'd been there, but all my knowledge was just book-fed fantasies. Then in 1982, I decided that I would go. I didn't have any obligations. I was young (24) and single. I felt a burst of adventurous boldness. I bought some travel guides and plotted my route. I had it all planned out, what flights I would take, what trains, what buses, the pensions and hostels I would stay at, the sites I would visit, and the cost of it all. I saved my money. I set a departure date. And then I chickened out. I was nervous about traveling alone and no one would go with me. So I stayed home and spent my travel money on books and records.
I took little trips now and then. In 1983 I traveled across the country by train to visit my grandparents in Pennsylvania. From time to time, I traveled by car to places not far from home, usually short trips to Utah. After I married and our first baby Geoffrey was born, we made another trip by train across the country. But always, no matter where I traveled, there was home waiting for me and I was anchored to it by its comforts, its familiarity, by books, and gardens, and all the things that kept me content and sane. When we moved here, my contentment to stay put deepened. Happy to be here, why would I want to go anywhere else?
But I've changed. A huge catalyst in my attitude adjustment came with our trip to Italy in 2019. It was Stacey's idea. She wanted to go to the open house of the Rome Temple. She made all the plans and figured out all the details. I went along. I was nervous, I'll admit that. Flying across an ocean, actually flying anywhere, makes me very anxious. But that trip with our little group of family and friends changed something in me. It was so amazing actually being in Rome, Florence, Pisa. I realized then that I could do this and really enjoy it. We made another trip in 2023 to France. We went to the Alsace, Paris, and Normandy. Ever since then, more and more, I find myself wanting to travel. I still love being home, but now I feel a growing need to see more of the places I've only known on paper, or on screens, or in my mind. The world is changing. I am changing. I don't know which of these changes are the stronger impetus for my desire to travel. I need to see things before they, or I, am gone.
We have a list of places where we want to go, mostly based on where the church is building temples – Vienna, Hamburg, Osaka, Dublin, Edinburgh, Milan, Barcelona. Going to temple open houses gives an added reason for traveling there, if I needed one. I have other, non-temple related places I'd like to go like Hawaii, Tahiti, and maybe New Zealand and Australia. I'd like to do a Gothic cathedral tour of France and England. If it weren't so dangerous, I'd like to visit the Holy Land and Egypt. So many places. I'm willing to stifle my aversion to flying, maybe even ignore my phobia of deep water and take a Caribbean or Mediterranean cruise. And all of this was swirling in my brain because I was sitting and stewing in frustration for things to get underway in the garden. If things were not going to happen here, I'd rather go somewhere else for a bit. But not for too long. I wouldn't want to miss the daffodils or the apple blossoms and somebody has to tend the chickens and pull the weeds.
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| Chionodoxa blooming in the long border. |
Monday was Johann Sebastian Bach's birthday. In all my explorations in the world of music, classical and otherwise, I've never found any music that compares to his. He is considered by many, among them me, to be the greatest musical genius humankind has ever produced. I spent the dreary day reveling in his glorious music. I listened to the Brandenburg Concertos, the Well-tempered Clavier, the Two and Three Part Inventions, the Goldberg Variations, and the Mass in B Minor. In twelve days, on Good Friday, I will listen to the St. Matthew Passion, something I look forward to all year. Happy birthday Johann, three hundred and forty years later, and you're still the best.
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| My friend, J. S. Bach. |
Monday afternoon the rain let up for a short spell and I went immediately out to work. The high tunnel we put up last year was not sturdy enough to survive our wind. The frame was irreparably bent and the cover torn. It needed to be disassembled. That was my first task. Shortly after I began undoing all the nuts and bolts, Kurt joined me and we had it down in no time. It still wasn't raining, so we moved on to another task. I am expecting a shipment that included raspberries and I need a place prepared to plant them. The ground was damp, but Kurt thought it was dry enough to till. It turned out okay. While he was tilling, I worked at putting the mulch cloth back on the grape patch that the wind had blown askew. By then, the rain was back and we gave up and went back indoors. It was nice to have a brief break in the weather to get a little work done.
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| Kurt tilling a raspberry bed for me. |
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| A little hard to see, but the garlic has sprouted. |
Tuesday morning was cold and gray. I spent the morning in the woodshed planting more seed trays – cleome, marigolds, basket flowers, and castor beans. After that I came in and brooded. I searched for some music to lift my mood and, after a few unsuccessful tries, settled on Chopin. I chose the ballades, nocturnes, and piano concertos, all played by Sviatoslav Richter, my favorite pianist. That helped. Music does indeed have "charms to soothe the savage breast." I was feeling pretty savage and I was soothed.
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| Seed trays in the woodshed. |
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| Chopin and Richter, a perfect combination. |
That afternoon the sun came out and it looked deceptively warm outside. I did the chores down at the barn and then thought I would tackle one of the items on my job list, mowing. The grass hasn't begun to grow to the point where it needs to be cut, but the lawn is covered with winter debris – little twigs and last year's leaves, that make things look untidy. I went next door and got the mower and started by mowing the orchard paths. Then I moved on to mow around the house. I made it twice around when the belt came off the mower blades. I could have fixed it and kept on going, but by then I was cold. It was only 40° and windy and despite the sunshine and a coat, I was chilled through and through. I put the mower away and went inside to thaw out.
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| The last of the crocuses. |
On Wednesday the rain held off until after noon, but it was not a good day for working outdoors. It was too cold. That morning I felt a bit shiftless. I puttered around the house. I watered my houseplants. I checked the seed trays in the woodshed. I filled the birdfeeders. I unloaded the dishwasher. All of that didn't take very long. Then I sat down to look at what was going on in the world. I didn't want to read about politics, the economy, earthquakes in divers places, wars and rumors of wars, or any of the rather depressing things headlining the news sites. I wanted something pleasant, which can be hard to find. While searching, I saw a photo of the trees blooming at the capitol in Harrisburg, beautiful magnolia and cherry trees. That piqued my interest. I checked for photos of the cherry trees at the tidal basin in Washington D.C. According to the articles I found, they peaked on March 28th and then, just like that, they were done. That got me wondering how the
sakura season was progressing in Japan.
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| A magnolia tree at the capitol in Harrisburg. (not my photo) |
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A flowering cherry at the capitol in Harrisburg. (Not my photo)
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| Cherry trees in Washington D.C. (Not my photo) |
Sakura 桜
season is a very big deal in Japan. There are numerous guides published online announcing when famous cherry blossom sites will be at their best. There are over 1,000
sakura viewing places. The Japanese flock to them to view the trees. This year the official season opened on March 24th and the guides will be updated daily to keep people informed where the best places are. The trees begin to bloom in the south and the flowering wave moves north over several weeks ending in Hokkaido around the end of April. There are millions of cherry trees in Japan, some of them wild, some of them cultivated. They are ornamental, not grown for their fruit. Sometime during the Nara Period (710-794 A.D.), the custom of
hanami 花見, flower viewing, began. People held parties under the blooming trees. They danced and sang, ate food and drank sake. They still do.
Sakura is very symbolic to the Japanese. The beauty, transience, and fragility of the blossoms are seen as a metaphor for life. Here is the famous song.
桜 桜 Sakura, sakura Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
野山も里も Noyama mo sato mo In fields, mountains, and villages
見渡す限り Miwatasu kagiri As far as the eye can see.
霞か雲か Kasumi ka kumo ka Is it mist? Is it clouds?
朝日に匂う Asahi ni niou Fragrant in the rising sun.
桜 桜 Sakura, sakura Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms
花ざかり Hana zakiri Flowers in full bloom.
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| The famous Philosopher's Path in Kyoto. |
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| Mt. Fuji during sakura. |
I arrived in Japan late in the evening on April 12, 1978, during
sakura time. One of the first sights I saw on my first day, Thursday, April the 13th, in Kobe, was cherry trees blooming along the streets near the mission home. The first area I was assigned to was Tsuruhashi in the city of Osaka. One day shortly after I arrived there, we went to see very famous double blossomed cherry trees along the Yodo river, near our apartment. There were thousands of people packed on the path to see the trees. The following year, I was living in the city of Akashi during the
sakura season. There is a park there where there once was a castle. We often rode our bikes through it and would stop to watch the
sakura parties and dancing. One day on our P-day, we took the train to Himeji to see the castle and its park with its famous
sakura in bloom. I would like to go back to Japan during
sakura someday. It is unbelievably beautiful.
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| My two spindly cherry trees. |
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| My orchard won't bloom for another five or six weeks, I hope |
The rain, when it came on Wednesday, waited until chore time, of course. It arrived with a bit of drama, lots of thunder and lightning. We don't often get thunderstorms in April and this was a good one. The thunder was terrific. It rumbled and rolled for several hours.
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| Corydalis blooming in the bench garden. |
Thursday was warm, 60°, but rainy. It seems like the weather is just trying to be mean. When it gives me a day warm enough to work outdoors, it rains. My main objective that day was to try and plant onions. My order of onion starts arrived a week ago on Saturday and I needed to get them in the ground. I decided to use the place where the high tunnel had been as this year's onion patch. There was already weed barrier in place, my plan was to cut some slots into it to make rows for the onions. The rain let up at 10:00 and I rushed out to work, but the reprieve only lasted ten minutes and I didn't get anything done. I came back indoors and waited, hoping for another chance. That's how the whole day went. At 11:45 the rain stopped. I ran out again. The rain started again at noon. It stopped at 2:00 and started again at 2:10. Each time, I was no sooner ready to work, when I had to retreat again. I finally gave up.
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| Onion starts waiting to be planted. |
Stacey and I had errands to do on Thursday evening, so we drove up to Wellsville. As we set out, I was feeling a bit wonky. By the time we got back, I knew I was coming down with something. I went straight to bed. Friday morning, I slept late, a sure indication that things are definitely not normal. When I finally got up, I took a hot bath in Epsom salts. I lounged around all morning and by noon I was feeling much better. I don't know what bug it was, but I'm glad it was short-lived. I took things easy all day, not wanting a relapse, so I didn't get any work done. I did take a walk and made a list of the jobs that need to be done: plant onions, plant new fruit trees and raspberries (when they arrive), dig up the old blackberry bed, clean up the hedges, repair the greenhouse, make eight new raised beds, cover the sunchoke patch with weed barrier, put up the pigpen, clean the back porch and woodshed, clean the chicken coop and get it ready for chicks, and weed, weed, weed. That's a formidable list. Just typing it out makes me tired.
Miriam and Hannah went down to the Thayn's house again this weekend. They left Thursday afternoon. On Friday afternoon, Miriam slipped and fell in the Thayn's yard and broke her wrist. Rachel took her to the emergency room where they spent eight hours getting it taken care of. It's a sad situation.
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| Miriam back from the emergency room. |
Friday afternoon, Stacey and I worked on preparing the onion patch. We thought we could just cut slits in the mulch cloth that was already there and plant them, but the ground under it was too compacted. Onions are one of our biggest crops and we didn't want to risk a crop failure, so we pulled up the old mulch cloth. Now Kurt needs to till it, but the weather doesn't look good so who knows when he'll be able to do that. Meanwhile, the onions, and I, wait, shriveling by the day.
That evening, Stacey and I decided to go to the movies. The movie in town is Minecraft. When we arrived at the theater, the line to buy tickets was out the door and down the street. We weren't that keen to see the movie in the first place, so we turned around and came home. Instead we finished a documentary we'd been watching, Travels with Agatha with Sir David Suchet. Sir David follows the route Agatha Christie and her husband took in 1922 to drum up support for the British Empire Exhibition in 1924. He travels to South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Hawaii, and Canada. We love Agatha Christie's books and we love the television series Poirot starring Sir David Suchet. It was a great documentary. I recommend it.
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| Agatha Christie and Sir David Suchet. |
So it was just the two of us at home for the weekend. Yesterday it rained all day but that was okay. This is General Conference weekend, so we spent most of the time watching conference sessions. It's been a relaxing and uplifting weekend. It's raining again today. We watched this morning's session and after we eat lunch, we're going over to Foster's to watch the last session with Sarah. We are anxiously waiting to hear any new temple announcements. I'll probably have to add some more places to my travel wish list.
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| Inside the Conference Center in Salt Lake City. |
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| Watching General Conference on the computer from the comfort of our bed. |
The week ahead doesn't look very promising. We have a chance for snow tonight and on Tuesday. It's not going to be warm all week. It doesn't look like I'll be getting much done outdoors. T. S. Elliot was right, "April is the cruelest month … stirring dull roots with spring rain." But then to dump snow on us is just vicious.
