I think it’s here.
The woods are full of the pale green mist of budding leaves — it only lasts for a few days and always brings to mind Robert Frost’s poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay.”
There’s a garden the size of a football field in my backyard.
After reaching such enormous proportions that she was unable to get up unaided after accidentally rolling over on her back one day last week, the nanny goat finally gave birth to a big, strong kid two days ago.
Yes, indeed, it’s officially spring. Not because the equinox has come and gone, but because I hereby declare it to be so.
So, now that that’s done…
I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions. The middle of winter seems like the worst time of year to make a fresh start at much of anything. I realize it’s a matter of preference, and some people may choose to begin their personal commitments on the first of January. They’re wrong, of course, but that’s their prerogative.
In my infinite wisdom, I have chosen the beginning of spring to make my resolutions, allowing the renewal and growth in the natural world to inspire the same in me. Genius, it’s true.
Besides the obvious “Get back to my wedding weight,” a lot of my resolutions this year have a “green” theme. A certain environmental awareness has been developing in me for some time now, and I intend to make a conscious effort to do my small part.
I find it very sad that conservative Christians tend to distance themselves from any hint of environmentalism simply because it has been claimed as a liberal cause. Aren’t we charged in Genesis with the responsibility of caring for the planet God created for us? It shouldn’t be an issue of politics or knee-jerk, “if-that-guy-likes-it-then-I-don’t” reactions.
My husband and I were discussing this subject a few days back, and he said he thinks a lot of Christians just believe that since the world won’t end till God lets it, they should live in faith and not worry about it. That’s the worst concept of stewardship I’ve ever heard. It’s like the guy in the New Testament who buried the money his master gave him while his buddies invested theirs profitably. He figured as long as he didn’t lose it, he’d be doing pretty well. Didn’t work out that way.
G.K. Chesterton’s essay, “A Piece of Chalk,” pretty much destroys the idea of judging our morality by what we don’t do. The author goes out into the countryside with chalks and brown paper to sketch “devils and seraphim, and blind old gods that men worshipped before the dawn of right, and saints in robes of angry crimson, and seas of strange green, and all the sacred or monstrous symbols that look so well in bright colours on brown paper.”
Upon discovering that he has forgotten his white chalk, he writes this:

I cannot avoid remarking here upon a moral significance. One of the wise and awful truths which this brown-paper art reveals, is this, that white is a colour. It is not a mere absence of colour; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. When, so to speak, your pencil grows red-hot, it draws roses; when it grows white-hot, it draws stars. And one of the two or three defiant verities of the best religious morality, of real Christianity, for example, is exactly this same thing; the chief assertion of religious morality is that white is a colour. Virtue is not the absence of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and separate thing, like pain or a particular smell. Mercy does not mean not being cruel, or sparing people revenge or punishment; it means a plain and positive thing like the sun, which one has either seen or not seen. Chastity does not mean abstention from sexual wrong; it means something flaming, like Joan of Arc. In a word, God paints in many colours; but he never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white.

And so, my years of mindless consumerism are over. No more thinking of everything as disposable. No more drying my hands one time on a clean paper towel and then throwing it in the trash (a terrible habit of mine). No more buying over-processed, over-packaged junk and calling it food.
It’s no more healthy for us than it is for the planet. Check out the American family from the Time piece “What the World Eats.”
This year, I will be shopping at our local farmer’s market, using canvas bags instead of paper or plastic, and buying more certified organic products. We’re planning to buy a more fuel-efficient vehicle for Ben’s daily commute as well as our occasional long trips. I also plan to start recycling the gazillion unnecessary magazines and catalogs I’ve subscribed to and cancel the ones I don’t use.
I’m still not clear on the whole dishwasher issue. I know it uses 70% less water than washing by hand, but does the electricity usage cancel out the water savings? Does it make a difference that we have a spring instead of city water? These are the questions I ponder before drifting off to sleep each night…
So, the world is starting over, and I’m starting over in the world. Your suggestions are welcome…