Here Comes the Sun

It really did seem like years since it’s been here.

The April showers are back today, but for a day and a half before, the sky cleared and the sun came out, and it was glorious.

Seven (or Eight or Nine) Months of Winter

Sure, everyone loves a little sunshine. But here in Chicagoland winter can start in October (it snowed on Halloween) and last through April, and sometimes in to May. There are recorded instances of snow in June in Chicago.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t an increasing number of warmer days here, like everywhere. But with warmth comes what feels like an excessive number of cloudy days. We don’t seem to get those piercingly clear, black-sable-with-diamond-star nights anymore, or those brilliant sunny winter days when the snow sparkles and the sky is a saturated turquoise.

I admit I take no small pleasure in being right, every year, when I warn anyone I catch rhapsodizing about a 60 degree day in late February or mid-March that “it always, always snows in April.” And it did, for two days a week ago or so. It didn’t stick, and it was much more pleasant than the three days of torrential downpours that preceded it. But it didn’t sparkle, and the clouds were thick and unrelenting.

Blue Skies Shining On Me

So when the skies cleared Friday afternoon, after I retrieved Angelic Daughter’s regular Friday night take-out, I finally, FINALLY got the chance to plant my spring vegetable seeds. For two hours on Friday afternoon and two on Saturday morning, I carefully punched holes in the weed mat I put down in my raised beds on the one unusually warm Saturday we had in March (so sick of unidentifiable and pesky weeds in my raised beds!) and dropped the seeds in.

Sugar snap peas, one seed per hole. Romaine and bib lettuce, three seeds per hole. Spinach and beets, one seed per hole. And if they come up, they’ll come up in the neatest rows I’ve ever grown, because the weed mat has green lines running along it, which made a perfect guide for placing the seeds.

Late and Later

Those seeds are supposed to go in anywhere from two to six week before the average last frost date, but for the past three or four years it has rained so much and so hard that there was never a chance to get them in during March and even during most of April. Same thing happened this year, but I seized the chance to plant during those precious sunny hours, and I’m betting on a few final days of frost to make those seeds feel at right at home.

If they sprout on schedule, they’ll delay my summer planting by a few weeks, but the way things are going I think I can expect a long summer growing season to make up for it.

So as the rain comes down hard again today, I’m happy: those seeds are getting just what they need, just when they need it.

And Just When We Thought The Sun Would Be Out Again…

Although tomorrow’s forecast here is “sunny” from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m, we’re supposed to get around 90% of the total eclipse, which won’t give a view of the sun’s corona the way it can be seen in areas of 100% totality. It also makes it even more dangerous to look at the sun. Of course you should never stare directly at the sun, but it’s especially important not to do it during an eclipse, when you could burn your retinas and end up with permanent partial vision or even total blindness.

Which is why a week ago I panicked and ordered a 10-pack of Celestron Eclipsmart glasses, because it occurred to me that Angelic Daughter might venture outside during the eclipse, and I hadn’t yet impressed upon her the importance of not looking at the sun.

I’ve been through several eclipses in my lifetime, and observed the odd, crescent-shaped shadows cast by leaves on the trees, or used the pinhole-in-the-box system to project the strange image onto a sidewalk or a piece of cardboard. My parents once took a cruise to South America to view a total eclipse, but I won’t be driving south tomorrow. Ninety percent is enough for me.

Darkness, Light, and Love

When the darkness falls, it’s supposed to last longer this time than usual. I’m not sure why, but it will be interesting to see and hear what happens. The temperature should drop, the birds may fall silent, and who knows what the squirrels will do. The darkness may seem eerie, or mystical, or scary, or just plain weird.

And after about four minutes, barring some cataclysmic and spectacularly unlikely celestial event, the sun will start to reappear.

Light conquers darkness. I need to be reminded of that right now, given the state of the world and the utterly bizarre, unhinged, and frankly blasphemous politics that so many fellow citizens have embraced. While I outfit Angelic Daughter with her eclipse glasses and don my own tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to say a little prayer for help reinforcing my faith that love is stronger than politics, stronger than hate, and even, as Easter (and widowhood) have taught me, stronger than death. Love endures, love forgives, love changes hearts and minds.

Wishing you a loving, cloudless, hope-filled tomorrow and prepping our eclipse glasses, I remain,

Your watching-for-sprouting-seeds and smiling at spring flowers,

Ridiculouswoman