Harbingers

It's time for the traditional winter/spring tug-of-war around here. Buzzing bees one day, snowstorms the next.

One deliciously warm afternoon last week I ventured into the backyard to take stock of the landscape. Every time I turned my head I spied another bouncy ball, discovered another missing sandal. Ha! Take away the snow, and winter's not such a tough hostage taker anymore.

But the ease with which I uncovered more and more defeatist playthings made me realize something else. In particular, I had looked for one of Samuel's shoes -- half of his absolutely favorite pair -- for several weeks before snow fell. The shoe had fallen off our busy toddler somewhere in our jungle of a backyard. I didn't stand a chance.

Months later, when I'd nearly forgotten about it, I did find that pesky shoe -- on my way to the garden last week to plant spinach seeds. Some would say it's because the snow melted, but I know that winter's way of stripping excess foliage was the true catalyst.

So what? Thanks to harsh elements and Samuel's growing feet, that shoe is of little use to me now. Yet the finding of it formed a great object lesson of a recurring truth in my life. Sometimes we lose sight of things when life is lush, requiring a season of starkness to help us find our treasures again.

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I was delighted to find a ladybug Thursday while doing yardwork. (Don't worry. As I told my friend who drove by and called out, "You're putting us all to shame!" --  this particular yard chore of pulling out dead flowers should have been done last fall.)

Anyway, I was super excited about my find and ushered James over to play with the cute little red bug. Isn't a ladybug a sure sign of spring?

Well, within an hour it started to thunder and hail. Thunder and hail! The sky became an angry gray with wispy finger-pointing clouds. The only softening the sky did later into the evening was to sprinkle snow instead of spitting sleet. Sign of spring? So much for that theory.

Oddly enough, I recalled that the last time I saw a ladybug, winter's hold was even greater. It was January. The earthquake had just ransacked Haiti. My friend Circe had organized the neighbors to make hygiene kits to send to that country. As we finished I saw a lone ladybug skitter across her table.

It did my heart good.

I think now I'll always associate a ladybug with hope, the more unexpected the better.