The Spears of Spring

It’s been a cold winter at Vivenda Vista de Paz, with sub-zero-Celsius temps all over the place, prompting us to stay tucked up into our woolen socks longer than we have in the past five seasons since moving here.

Five years ago, we sat on the cusp of a pandemic…officially declared around this date, March 13, 2020, with the closing of borders and the shutdown of in-person meetings and greetings. We donned masks and wiped our groceries with disinfectant wipes (something we didn’t even keep in the house!) and we had already stocked up on toilet paper in February, so that strange box was checked.

Even so, we began work on the new installment of our Random Garden, a concept we’d brought over from our home in Portugal. We’d purchased the house on an acre with a prospect of the fields around it with the intent to revitalize the already-plowed section in the back half of the land. Stephen set to work turning over the soil, and laying down cardboard to begin the regenerative soil process.

The Pandemic of 2025

This year, more threats gather on the horizon, outside the relatively calm bubble of our rural road in western Maryland. There’s an outbreak of measles—can you believe it?—which we’re fortunately long vaccinated against. But there’s also an outbreak of threats to democracy in the U.S., to our relationships with our once-closest allies, and to our life savings as the stock market tanks in the face of ridiculous tariffs.

So we turn once again to the garden for solace, for good work, for an investment in our immediate future that we know will pay off. While Stephen tills and we think of what varieties of tomatoes and peppers to plant, we watch the silent spears of green pierce the ground, in little patches around the house and in our big stone raised bed.

The crocuses have arrived, officially, with the first hint of purple. And the daffodils will come close behind. And the hyacinths, and tulips, and spring salad greens.

Lilly has scented out her favorite bunches already along our walk. We have to steady the tiller, breathe deeply, and focus on what we can do with our hands.

a scene of bare trees and patches of daffodil spears coming out of the brown leaes
On our walk: The first daffs always blossom here. [Credit: Julie Boatman]

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