Being Home on a Spring Day

What a warm and quintessential spring day it was today. While I was making a cup of tea this morning, I opened the back door to see what the day felt like beyond the door. It was what I would call pre-warm. I could tell that the temperature today would soon be perfect, perfect for a person who thinks “in the 80s” is too hot. The water in the kettle began to boil, and as I poured the water into my white porcelain cup, I heard a buzz. Was it a fly already? I soon saw one of my nemeses tracking down the sweet smell of jam: the first honeybee of the season. I say nemesis because stings of any sort for me don’t just hurt for a bit, but swell the area around the sting like a water balloon. There was a time when I would panic. On this beautiful day, I grabbed a glass, chased him around the kitchen until I caught him, then gently released him into his neighborhood, our backyard. I urged him to luxuriate on the blooming serviceberry.

As I released him, there was a great swoop above my head on our tiny porch. I saw big black wings jettison away to a limb on the oak tree, and that bird watched me as I stood at the door. We have a transom window, which is a separate pane of glass with a shelf framed above the door. Our house was built in 1905. They are over every door. I looked up and noticed a squabble of twigs that formed a nest. No other bird had ever chosen that shelter from the rain to hatch their chicks before. I was thrilled in anticipation after I realized that the black-winged bird was actually a female robin. Last year, doves hatched on our bedroom air conditioner. This year, the promise of robin chicks popping out of their glorious blue eggshells above my head each day will be a gift. I am so grateful the birds trust our house and yard for their homemaking.

And so I piddled about the kitchen for a while. Today I had promised to sort through the piles of newspaper and magazine clippings that would hopefully lead to inspiration of any sort. It’s a love-hate relationship. I love that saving and rereading these clippings can jump-start my needy creative mind, but I hate being the librarian of potential. I began to sort. One pile is labeled “food thoughts.” Is that a broad enough category, or is it too broad? Does it include restaurant reviews? Then a pile of other people’s artistic endeavors. I always hope these bring me closer to my tribe. How do other artists figure things out? Does it take them forever too? There is a special personal wellness pile, which is kind of the same as other people’s artistic endeavors.

I was beginning to feel the weight of this project when suddenly, this is what they mean when they say “out of the blue,” I could feel an unexpected sky performance was about to begin. The great spring thunderstorm was waiting to appear from behind the spring curtain.

Ever since I was a girl, I have loved a good thunderstorm. First the change in light gradually arrives, then the drop in temperature, then anticipating the rumble of thunder and the bright slash of lightning. The wind picks up; objects that were nestled haphazardly on the porch and in the yard begin to blow about in unexpected twists and fits. After my brother moved to California, he told me they never have thunderstorms where he lived. I don’t think I could stand not witnessing their unexpected grandeur.

I stopped trying to sort through anything today. I know I will try another day. I always do. But not today. Witnessing a spring thunderstorm needs all of my attention.

Sharon Butler, BonBonerie Co-Founder