It is spring here in south Florida. The nurseries are full of vegetable seedlings, young trees and annuals ready for planting. Our first spring this far south, where gardening begins while northern states are still shoveling snow and the ground is yet frozen.
This piece was inspired by a large, empty seed pod found during a morning walk, its husk still holding the dark imprint of where seeds once snuggled contentedly. Spring had arrived without my knowledge - seeds already freed of their pods and rooting victoriously in sandy soil. I wasn't prepared! What happened to months poring over seed catalogs planning my spring garden? Inside, I had been waiting for chilly days and bleak landscapes to spur my garden planning.
As I reflect over the nearly ten years we spent in our last home, I realize it took me many seasons to become in tune; to anticipate and plan at the right times. I had only just begun to know when the azaleas would bloom, when the leaves would fall, when to put tomato plants in the ground. There is a certain peace and serenity to feeling in touch with the natural order of things. I felt rooted.
So this piece of art celebrates our first spring here - the first lesson in nature's deeply southern moods and the first step toward synchronizing ourselves with a new landscape and planting our own roots in new ground. Where shovels sink easily into sandy soil and there is no clay to battle. Where summers are wet and wild and winters are dry and mild, and where spring shows up on our doorsteps one morning bearing gifts.