March

Good morning, March. I write this in my journal as I look out onto the streets of DC on March 1st. Even in the grey and the rain, March 1st is Spring to me. Those who are patient wait until Spring Equinox to declare spring’s arrival. But, for me, March 1st is Spring and a reminder of my Celtic hinterland; March 1st is also St. David’s Day, the patron Saint of Wales. 

In March, spring is only an idea - Mayes

In these early days of spring, there will be impatient days, the final days of winter interspersed among the first days of spring. You want spring to fully arrive and never leave again, but, we must be patient; we’ve made it through the winter. We emerge, carefully, from our homes and into the world. 

Dydd Gwyl Dewi Sant Hapus! St. David’s Day brings rain, but I find daffodils in the store - I buy a bunch for every room and return home, find old mason jars, and fill them with water. I also pick up the ingredients for Welsh rarebit, a warming cheesy dish on a wet day. This day reminds me of my Welsh grandmother, spring trips to Wales where lambs would bounce through the fields and daffodils brightened the landscape. Later, at university, the first person I fell in love with was Welsh, and although I mistook my emotions, this infatuation adds to the resonance of Wales; The land of my fathers has proven to be constant and never far away at each stage of my life. 

A year of lost time. The year we lost. A year at home. A year since… 

In mid-March, The clocks change, and the evenings are light. Daffodils, cherry blossoms, and magnolias bloom. At first light, I cycle to the Lincoln Memorial to sit alone with spring and history. 

In March, we travel to Lancaster, PA spending most of the time in the covered Central Market buying herbs, spices, soaps, and pickles - some from local Amish farms in Lancaster County.  

But, beyond the bloom, reflecting on this month: What was March? 

A question I keep asking myself as we mark a year of pandemic Do I feel that I’ve lost a year? Undoubtedly, there was loss, and there is still loss. But, looking back to March 2020, we were so unsure about this virus. We asked how many weeks will this last? We were warned not to touch anything, and not to leave the house. Among the upheaval, we still believed that the summer and the fall would be “normal”. Now, I’ve come to terms with the fact that we will never return. We’ll forever be altered by this collective experience, and for many, this trauma. This March, I’m not afraid to touch the mail or door handles; I go to bookstores and grocery stores, although cautiously, now without fear. I’ve also come to accept the unknown, and that the experiences I have now will be less, or, at least, different from how I expected when I accepted a new job in March 2020 and started graduate school last summer. 

2021 feels like Zwischenzeit - a time in between, an interim - between destruction and rebuilding. Only when the fire ends can we examine the damage, see what remains, and what must be rebuilt. When we rebuild, some things will be built in a new, better way. In March, then, I do reflect on what has been lost, but more, I also look forward. In March, I’m vaccinated. Two shots. Two Mondays. Two weeks until the height of my immunity against this disease. After winter, in Spring, the light is easier to locate and color blooms. How do I want to spend the light-filled months ahead? I feel that the dreams I had over the winter, I can turn into plans - but with some flexibility that these plans, in a pandemic and life, sometimes must be altered. 

In March, I always remind myself that spring is only an idea, but this year, I feel that Spring did arrive in March with color and hope. 

The Lincoln Memorial at Sunrise - A reminder that this nation is unfinished. January is still a recent memory, and sometimes we still need to pause and reflect.