Corona Letters #31

I have never enjoyed the gifts that spring has to offer more than I have this particular spring.

Every bud, every crocus, every daffodil is a symbol of hope in a dismal time.

I walk around my property searching for new life, and I crouch and admire any bits of green that

are pushing themselves up through the wintered earth.

I am rooting for them with every ounce of my being.  I am hoping that they are able to withstand

the deluges of rain we have experienced, that they can endure the colder than usual temps, that

they can camouflage themselves from the hungry bunnies that are in search of a tasty morsel.

I am keenly aware even as I walk around my backyard that this is just a thinly veiled metaphor for the life

we are all living currently.

It is easy to see hope in a garden,  it's harder in the uncertain landscape of this time period.

It is May now, this is usually a time of bittersweet rites of passages; last soccer or lacrosse games,

a final bow on a stage, proms, graduations, and the list goes on.

All those are gone now.  And, it's hard to see the bud of what is going to grow from this, what will bloom from this chaos.

I have already seen a couple of posts of "what should have been".  This weekend should have been the beginning of college graduation season.

Instead, the college graduates are at home watching the 7th season of the Office, for the 14th time.  I'm sure they are all feeling dual degrees of self-pity and resignation.

There are so many out there that are trying to make the best of this situation.  Celebrities are inviting students to on-line graduations, 

and the key note speakers are so incredible, that it is unlikely that any colleges would have been able to secure them to speak at a live

graduation.

However, This does not look or feel like the bud of hope.

Perhaps it is fertilizer?

And what about prom?   Many girls purchased their dresses in January well before all this started.   These dresses hang in their closets, a constant reminder of a night that will not be remembered.   Proms are an opportunity for crushes who have been sitting in the same math class for four years together, admiring each other across the rows, to finally ask (in an elaborate fashion as socially dictated), "Can we share this night?".   It is also a chance for high school sweethearts who will be together "forever" to hold each other tightly and wish that "forever" could really be, could really last.   Those of us also know that proms can also be less than ideal, where you see your crush of 10 years staring into someone else's eyes on the dance floor.   It can also be a night when that "forever" relationship ends, and somebody spends the night in the bathroom in tears.  It's not all wrist corsages and color co-ordinated photographs.  These kids will never know what it would have looked like though, true love or a tragic goodbye?   Instead, they will pose for pictures in their backyards, alone, by a pretty azalea bush, all made up with no where to go, with their Mom taking their picture.

As pretty as they are and as bright as their smile might be, this does not look or feel like the bud of hope.

I imagine a decade from now there will be a group of 30 somethings sitting at a bar, talking about proms and graduations, and there will be that 

person who sits silently at the table with nothing to say.  When there is a break in the chatter, he will simply say, "I graduated in 2020" and there will be silence.  It will be a conversation stopper.   Someone might say, "I'm so sorry dude" and another, "Let's talk about something else".   It is an experience like no other, and no celebrity, or drive by honking, will take away the sting.   These young people are learning a resilience that perhaps some of us older folks have yet to understand.   Perhaps they will deal with curve balls in life a little better than the rest of us.  When they don't get that job, or their hearts get broken, or they miss a flight, they might just mutter to themselves, "It's not such a big deal.  It's not like missing the last weeks of school with kids you've known for 13 years".

And, on top of all they are missing in their own young lives, they are surrounded by the threat of illness and even death.  These ever present threats whisper to them ever so quietly, "Do not complain, you don't have it so bad.  Things could be worse."   So, they sit in their ZOOM AP history class and try to pay attention, and they help their parents cook dinner, they take the dog for a walk.   

People keep joking that they are looking out for the "zombies" in this apocalypse.   Look no further.  We have created them in these youth.

"Do not have feelings" "Go through the motions" "just be undead for a while, while those in charge figure out this whole mess".   Spoiler alert, they aren't figuring anything out.

This is certainly not the bud of hope.

I am not a very good gardener but I really enjoy watching my garden grow.   Because I am not terribly "plant literate" it is always a surprise to me to see what comes out of the fertile soil.   As each plant slowly emerges from the earth I imagine what it will become, "is this an Iris, a tulip, a daffodil"?  Sometimes I can tell by the shape or color of a leaf but other times I am completely taken by surprise.

I have always loved peonies and last year I planted peonies for the first time.  I planted them after they had bloomed so I never saw them flower.  This year I excitedly watched as those plants started to emerge from the earth.  "Finally!  I will have my peonies!"  I tended, I watered, I willed them to grow.  Then I went to a friend's house and was looking at her garden (with proper social distancing of course).  I pointed to a group of stems popping up. "What are those?" I asked.  "Those are my peonies" she said with a proud smile.   I realized they looked nothing like my peonies.  I went home and looked at the plants that I had ever so carefully tended, "What are you even?" I asked them (they did not answer).   Now I am curious.   So, I tend them even more carefully, with a sense of wonder of what will bloom.   I water them, fertilize them, and pull weeds that threaten them.  I am willing them to grow into something magnificent, or something simple like a tulip.   Whatever it's meant to be.  It's impossible to know what will bloom (unless of course I looked at a horticulture book, but a surprise might be more fun)

And the peonies?  They are indeed growing.   They are just in a totally different spot and doing beautifully despite having been ignored, not watered, or coddled in any way.   They didn't get any extra attention but somehow they got what they needed to grow.

My wish is that both the mystery plant and the peonies will find their time and place to bloom, with or without pomp and circumstance.

And that is a bud of hope.