From Today
Now spring has officially sprung here. Was winter officially over when the calendar said so? Was it last weekend when I went to my first barbeque and had my first burger off the grill? Friday when I went to the first home baseball game of the year, and saw not only the green grass, heard the crack of the bat, and the unmistakable sound of a pitched fastball into a catcher's mitt? Was it yesterday, when I got up early and watched the whole world awaken? Or last night, when I had my first piece of corn on the cob? Are these rituals, these flavors, these sensations, now what marks a change in season?
I have noticed now, that even the coffees change. Right now there is creme bulee and chocolate macadamia to enjoy...the fall brings pumpkin and cinnamon, winter nutmeg and egg nog. Everything now is lighter, faster, brighter, happier than it was just a few weeks ago. Downtown has changed to a more vibrant, more talkative, more colorful place to walk through- gone are the days when each of us huddled only with ourselves, jackets held tight against the biting wind.
I spent part of yesterday at a farm- Slate Run, part of the Columbus Metro Parks system. It consists of an historic farm which has been restored to function much as it did in the 1880s. One is greeted by rooster calls and squawking poultry, hears mooing and oinking and the hissing of geese. I fed sheep, pet a young piglet, and watched horses stir. The centerpiece is a beautifully constructed farmhouse, originally built in 1856. As I toured it, I thought about my wonderful and treasured heritage, both as an American and as a Stuart.
When I arrived, the farm was still awakening-all the young piglets (2 groups of about 8 each) were still all piled up with each other in sleep. The night before was cold, and these siblings were huddled together with a leg thrown over here, a tail there...blissfully dozing in the sun. From time to time, one would wake up and move around. After checking out the situation and making sure nothing was going on, they would squeeze there way back into the pile, often resulting in awakened brothers and sisters, all of which would sort of shrug and this intrusion and try to go back to sleep. Sort of a pig version of the snooze alarm. One of these roused pigs woke up and came over to me. These were obviously domesticated oinkers, and it quickly poked it oinking nose through the fence to inquire of me. "Corn!" it was saying, judging from the picked over cobs that were spread out over the pen's floor. "Pardon me, kind sir, but do you have any corn?" I told it I did not, both verbally and with simple hand gestures. (Yes, I actually said out loud, "I'm sorry, I don't have any corn. No corn!") It sort of squinted at me, and in an uncannily human way, disdainfully brushed me off "tut-tut, be off with you then" and left me. After poking around and finding that mom was still asleep as well, it returned to the pile, just one more piglet looking for a warm place to rest.
Springtime on the farm made me think about how much more dependent on the seasons, on the weather than we are today. Their 1880s farm lives were governed by time. A time to plant, a time to harvest, a time to feed, a time to milk. Morning chores and evening ones. A regularity of schedules established simply by the realities of nature. Today, we are liberated from these demands. All the weather requires of me is a choice of clothing and occasionally some extra time alloted for travel. This, as with so many things, has made our lives both simpler and more complicated.
In the meantime I will enjoy the long walks and beautiful colors of the spring while I wait for the seasons' cycle to once again turn.
I have noticed now, that even the coffees change. Right now there is creme bulee and chocolate macadamia to enjoy...the fall brings pumpkin and cinnamon, winter nutmeg and egg nog. Everything now is lighter, faster, brighter, happier than it was just a few weeks ago. Downtown has changed to a more vibrant, more talkative, more colorful place to walk through- gone are the days when each of us huddled only with ourselves, jackets held tight against the biting wind.
I spent part of yesterday at a farm- Slate Run, part of the Columbus Metro Parks system. It consists of an historic farm which has been restored to function much as it did in the 1880s. One is greeted by rooster calls and squawking poultry, hears mooing and oinking and the hissing of geese. I fed sheep, pet a young piglet, and watched horses stir. The centerpiece is a beautifully constructed farmhouse, originally built in 1856. As I toured it, I thought about my wonderful and treasured heritage, both as an American and as a Stuart.
When I arrived, the farm was still awakening-all the young piglets (2 groups of about 8 each) were still all piled up with each other in sleep. The night before was cold, and these siblings were huddled together with a leg thrown over here, a tail there...blissfully dozing in the sun. From time to time, one would wake up and move around. After checking out the situation and making sure nothing was going on, they would squeeze there way back into the pile, often resulting in awakened brothers and sisters, all of which would sort of shrug and this intrusion and try to go back to sleep. Sort of a pig version of the snooze alarm. One of these roused pigs woke up and came over to me. These were obviously domesticated oinkers, and it quickly poked it oinking nose through the fence to inquire of me. "Corn!" it was saying, judging from the picked over cobs that were spread out over the pen's floor. "Pardon me, kind sir, but do you have any corn?" I told it I did not, both verbally and with simple hand gestures. (Yes, I actually said out loud, "I'm sorry, I don't have any corn. No corn!") It sort of squinted at me, and in an uncannily human way, disdainfully brushed me off "tut-tut, be off with you then" and left me. After poking around and finding that mom was still asleep as well, it returned to the pile, just one more piglet looking for a warm place to rest.
Springtime on the farm made me think about how much more dependent on the seasons, on the weather than we are today. Their 1880s farm lives were governed by time. A time to plant, a time to harvest, a time to feed, a time to milk. Morning chores and evening ones. A regularity of schedules established simply by the realities of nature. Today, we are liberated from these demands. All the weather requires of me is a choice of clothing and occasionally some extra time alloted for travel. This, as with so many things, has made our lives both simpler and more complicated.
In the meantime I will enjoy the long walks and beautiful colors of the spring while I wait for the seasons' cycle to once again turn.
posted by Scott L. Stuart at
12:17 PM
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