Forced.

The first day of spring came in so beautifully, mild, but still below freezing, with some peaks of sun. After my morning chores in the barnyard, I walked around the acre-plus perimeter to survey who was peeking out to greet the new season. Little nubs in the ground, some jagged tops show the tulips are trying, but are too delicious to the bunnies, they may not make it to flower, fingers crossed. Swelling early daffodils give hope for new color in the pool bed soon. All on their own, they muscle through the frozen ground in search of sunlight and warmth. Quite miraculous really.

I got an idea and went rummaging for my pruners through my tool bag that had been wintering in the corner. Once in hand I strolled out to the still-snoozing forsythia and clipped several branches, just a healthy pruning I justified. But I was really forcing them to leave their slumber and join me inside in a vase with a strong encouragement to bloom ahead of schedule.

My one planned task today was to give my trailer a fresh coat of paint. Jack was powerwashing it first, which gave me an hour or so of drying time to do something else. I took my spring rake off the nail, stuffed my oversized tarp under my arm and marched to the roadside bed to do my first clean up of the season. Gently removing clods of wet leaves revealed the yellow foliage of emerging daffodils searching for sunlight and energy after the long winter in darkness. Like forcing a child out of bed on a cold schoolday morning, I removed the warm blanket from my wintering bulbs, forcing them to engage in the chemistry that is so good for them. Clearing the 200 ft road frontage filled several tarps and my body felt engaged, almost ready, a little bit excited about coming out of hibernation and participating in the dance that is soon to be in full swing. I put my tarp back in the shed, satisfied. Now where is my paintbrush?