Stuck in the middle?

Early March means spring is just around the corner. Right? Where you live, maybe spring is already emerging. My mom tells me her tulip magnolia has already bloomed.

I visited Atlanta last weekend and saw a few early signs of spring, including this star magnolia:

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A star magnolia blooms in Atlanta’s Centennial Olympic Park (taken with my cell phone).

But where I live, spring feels a long way off. We had snow last night, and when I left the house this morning, it was 27° and windy.

Gardeners around here recommend waiting until Memorial Day weekend to plant outdoors. So you might understand why I’m feeling stuck in the middle of winter. I know we’ll have some lovely days between now and Memorial Day weekend, but true spring feels a long way off.

Maybe you’re feeling stuck in the middle of something right now, too?

As my dog and I passed this No Parking sign this morning, a thought struck me. Whatever middle we feel stuck in—whether it’s the seasons, an illness (our own or a loved one’s), an election cycle, a difficult project at work, or fears of a pandemic—let’s remember not to park right here in the middle.

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After all, if there’s a middle, there’s an end, too. So let’s keep moving. And may each moment find us feeling a little less stuck.

What are some ways you look for light and hope when you’re stuck in the middle? What keeps you moving? I’d love for you to share your ideas below.

Welcome backyard guests

My husband set up backyard bird feeders this winter, and we’ve had a steady stream of gray birds: juncos, chickadees, titmice, nuthatches. While I’m happy to see them visit the feeders, I’ve been missing the splash of red of cardinals.

Finally, on a miserable winter’s day, I glanced outside and saw that yearned-for color.

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A male cardinal waiting near the feeder

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She braces in the wind and snow.

Our feeder isn’t ideal for cardinals. I hadn’t realized the perch arms were too short for them. But every so often now, the cardinals pay us a visit. Because the juncos and nuthatches spit out other seeds looking for their favorites, the cardinals don’t leave hungry.

I’ll have to add another feeder, though, as I want these favorite winter guests to feel welcome.

What winter guests do you long to welcome to your home?

Winter roses

We’ve had a recent cold snap, and though last week I may have poked gentle fun at rainy day behaviors out here in California, I have to make fun of myself this week. I am quickly losing my tolerance for cold.

Monday’s cold weather brought a bitter wind, and all I wanted to do was hide inside—after a morning run, of course. I have to dust off the winter running clothes every now and then, right?

It was cold here over Christmas, too, and when I returned from balmy North Carolina after the holidays, I knew I had to tackle a winter gardening chore: pruning the roses. (Not my favorite gardening activity, I’ll confess.) I left three stems taller than the rest because small buds graced them, and I hoped they might bloom, despite freezing temperatures in December.

One bud finally began to open within the last week. So I cut all three buds to bring inside and finished the pruning chores.

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To me, this is the exact color of dusty rose

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Playing in a winter wonderland

It may not feel like winter where you are (or where I am, of that matter), but I’m enjoying some time off and playing in this wonderland—snow-covered or not.

I hope you won’t mind me taking a break to enjoy time with family and friends this week. I’ll be back next week to greet the new year with you.

In the meantime, to encourage you to head outside, here’s a photo of someone who loves to play outside, no matter the weather:

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My pup with her favorite tennis ball in her favorite kind of weather (from 2014)

Blessings to you at the close of 2015. I’d love to hear how you’re wrapping up the year and ringing in a new one!

The first four California seasons

“Have you noticed we all say ‘Y’all’ now that you’re here?” One of my critique group members asked me this after saying the word herself. I’m not sure, but I think every member of the group had just said, “Y’all” in our wrapping-up conversation. It’s true. I’ve rubbed off on them, as they have on me.

I’ve been pondering this and other changes today. You see, one year ago today, I was on a plane, my dog in the cargo hold, flying across the country where my husband waited for us to begin a new adventure. And what an adventure it has been so far.

I sat at a cafe this morning—sipping an artful latte—and read a journal entry I wrote after my first week here.

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What had already grabbed my heart by the end of that first week was one of my great loves here: the river and the beauty and life that surround it. I thought I’d share with you some favorite moments (and photos) from my first four seasons here.

Winter
Along with the river, the mild weather of this region and oranges growing in my own yard are some favorites of winter here.

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The riverbank is greener in winter because it’s the rainy season. This photo is from before my dog met a skunk. I can tell from the darker brown of her coat, pre-peroxide baths.

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Just one of the delicious oranges from our yard

Spring
Although some flowers bloom through winter here, spring really is beautiful, ushering in abundant blooms and drawing wildlife out of hiding. The trees leafing out means more shade, too, a welcome presence along running trails.

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The earliest blooms of spring

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An Anna’s Hummingbird visits purple flowers near the river.

Summer
There’s no way to sugar coat summer here: it is ridiculously hot. But the mornings are cooler (compared to what this Southern girl is used to) and dry. I didn’t enjoy trying to finish runs by 6:30 each morning, but I definitely embraced the lower humidity.

Dragonflies darted happily around the yard and posed patiently for photo ops. A baby owl grew up in a nesting box attached to our house. I’m hoping for a repeat of all of this next summer.

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Fall
Fall is my favorite season anywhere, and so it’s no wonder that this fall brought many happy moments. Clouds returned in September, followed by a handful of rainy days. The Sierra peaks in the distance have slowly turned white with snow. Trees transformed into vibrant colors, and at least one osprey followed the salmon run up the river. Fall here offers much to celebrate, and with the cooler weather, it’s easier to embrace being outside no matter the time of day.

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Leaves aflame (not with fire but with fall color)

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King of the river?

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One of countless salmon swimming upstream

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The Sierra peaks are even more snow-covered than this now. A promise of drought relief?

All the year round
I’m grateful for so many people and things that have remained steadfast the whole year. For my husband who has patiently weathered my homesick moments and encouraged my attempts at establishing roots here. For family and friends far away who’ve made the effort to keep in touch. For new friends who have embraced me into their lives (and into their language, too). All y’all are wonderful! 😉

I’m grateful for the great running and races here. For coffee shops and wineries and San Francisco not too close but not too far either. For Yosemite within driving distance. And, oh, the stars. How could I forget the stars? It’s darker here than anywhere I’ve ever lived. Just the other night, I noticed some stars in Orion I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

Perhaps the greatest takeaway for me this year—a reminder I see weekly as I drive along a certain tree-lined, windy road—is that no matter where I live, this is truth:

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This message resonated with many of you, too. In my tree signs series, a majority of you chose this sign as your favorite.

As we head toward Christmas and a new year, I hope you’ll pause for a moment in all the busyness and ask yourself what you have loved about each of the last four seasons. What stands out to you? I invite you to share a few of your joys and delights from the year in the comments below.