APRIL



1 John 3:11,18

"The message you heard from the very beginning is this: we must love one another....My children, our love should not be just words and talk; it must be true love, which shows itself in action."

April is action. People wake up, bears begin to roam to neighborhood garbage pails.  Blooming trees signal the arrival of Magnolia and Dogwood shad. The nets are set just off the sea lane on the Hudson River. The tides have mostly carried away winter flotsam. 

Good Friday, Easter, Passover. Endings. Beginnings. The first sound of leaf blowers and lawnmowers. Friends of the Library announce trips to public gardens, lunches. One hot day a cicada can be heard. Seems everyone and every thing is busy. 

One has to be committed to April.

After a few tantalizing summer-like days in March, April is not only bone dry, but chilly. Close to freezing at night. A cheat for the plants trying to awake. Day by day the Hostas furtively push out spikes. Ferns Struggle to unwind. Only the Lenten Rose has in inhospitable conditions bravely bloomed their purple and white glory.

 The birds however wake us us with newly hopeful spring choruses. They began to tune up in March. 

April 23 We find ourselves marveling at fleeting time as we all must eventually do. Happier to do so on this our son's 34th birthday. We remember his first attempts at describing his world. See! He throws his arms out and lies back against the pillowy Boxwoods. See, the blooshers! Our granddaughter's first sentence was, Daddy! The leaves falling! They were born, it seems, with a commitment to life and life's wonders.

April 25 The Wisteria has graced us with its spectacular amethyst dangle earrings. The Dogwoods, white and pink have made a run for glory at last. The ancient pink has held on for yet another spectacular act. We hold our breath in March to see if her last act has come. Applause when once again, for perhaps the 60th time, the curtain opens and out steps the grande dame  once again in the splendor of advanced but victorious old age.

April in Paris.  1985 . Just my husband and I.  Glorious inspiration of troubadours ancient and modern. Long walks among expertly pruned Chestnut trees leafing out in their allées above masses of tulips in the Tuileries. The happy trip in 2004.  We flew our son there to be with us. It was so amusing to see his surprise at how well I spoke French. He took four years of French at the high school where I taught. I made sure not to teach his class. I knew you spoke French, but not that good! April in Paris.

I was never in Paris in April with anyone I was in love with as a young woman going to school there. I wasn't all that comfortable alone with myself back then.  I suffered a bit le mal du pays.  No matter. I walked there happily decades later in summer with the man I am married to now some 40 years. Commitment is a good thing.

The fountain we made from a Pennsylvania Dutch copper boiling kettle  is cleaned and filled with fresh water now babbling away. A small brown bird takes a drink then flies as if to rest on our deck railing. It makes numerous trips, preening each time on the railing unconcerned by me watching its ablutions a foot away.  

Great hawks are riding April's breeze today overhead. The smart and mighty crows are ganging up on the hawk with loud barks no doubt in protection of their young. A doe feeds beside this year's fawn in a thicket not 200 yards from where I stand.

All of this is treasure within sight on my acre. I am committed to April.

The Sunday School lesson this week is about Commitment.

The Bible passage reminds me of a wider commitment. I am rich here on my acre. I must do more than talk about love. I must renew commitments I've made to Save Our Sisters, Polaris, the Food Bank, my church mission, to family and friends in need.

 Renewal. Growth. Commitment to the Light in Whom there is no darkness. The power of Jesus whom God raised from death. It is April's song.