March’s Many Faces
March 2025 has truly been a roller coaster of a month in our neck of the woods. Uncharacteristically, January brought a mixture of rain, spring weather, sunshine, but not a jot of snow. The final week of February, I wrote about memories of snow from winters spent living in the Midwest and ice skating on the pond at our Breakfast Creek country home. While every other region of the country was buried under snow or experiencing a wintry mix of misery, our part of the Sierra Nevada foothills above the snow line remained springlike. Then March roared in, and snow finally fell three weeks before the arrival of spring.
Silent and steady, it fell in the night, inviting me to sit at our red café table the next morning and marvel at the sense of peace that comes with the arrival of snow. All day I delighted in the snow-flocked branches on the tall pines, firs and cedars outside our front and back facing windows. Assorted winter birds swooped in to feed on wild bird seed and sunflower seeds tossed out along the meditation path and to drink cold snowmelt from a bird bath where it had ponded. Fluffy gray squirrels chased tiny darting red squirrels from feeder to feeder. One look back at me after snuggling into a soft snowbank.
In our raised redwood flowerbed, hardy Hellebores (Lenten Roses) that had bloomed in February appeared as delighted as children when snowflakes landed on their freckled faces. And nearby, peonies shivered after poking their heads up through dry stalks bent like tents to shelter them over the winter months. To keep them insulated until spring’s arrival, I stepped into the raised bed and covered their delicate heads with clear plastic domes anchored by metal spikes that will hopefully keep March winds from sending the domes flying.
The following day, my cat Peekay looked out from a high perch that is his window on the world as the prior day’s snow glittered like diamonds as sunlight filled the woods. By afternoon, temperatures soared back up into the 60s, and explosive snow bombs began crashing to the ground. Part yellow tabby and part Bengal, he is an athletic cat capable of leaping up to the highest reaches of every room in the house. And although he now weighs 12 pounds, he lands atop and inside shelves without disturbing a single fragile object d’art as if he were a feather. Perhaps someday he will master the art of Zen meditation and stoically meditate for hours without moving a whisker. For now, he is still part kitten, albeit one the size of a full-grown cat, and prefers to chase anything that moves.
As March grew cold and the weather dicey, I made meals from what I had stored months earlier in the pantry and larder with only periodic trips to the grocery store for essentials. One snowy day, I was inspired to make risotto with asparagus and began assembling the ingredients needed for this hearty dish that would feed me over the coming days. Before long, the countertop was filled with asparagus stalks, arborio rice, an onion, garlic, butter, broth, dry white wine, olive oil, a package of prosciutto, grated parmesan cheese, and a lemon for zesting. An hour later, all of the ingredients had been chopped, sautéed, stirred, brought to a boil, covered and simmered on the stovetop and finally baked together in a le Creuset pot before being combined with crisp crumbled prosciutto, chopped garlic sautéed in olive oil, and lemon zest—a culinary exercise that was for me as delicious as the meals the risotto provided.
Daylight Savings Time saw clocks spring forward an hour, so nights are now darker longer and evenings stay lighter later. As March draws to an end, I’m tired of feeling the weight of the world that grew heavy on my shoulders this winter. I’m ready to walk about in our garden under a big umbrella gathering daffodils and peonies in April showers, and to dig in warm soil while planting flowers I could not resist a month ago. I’m eager to take Kit out in the sunlight at the Lodge and feel sunshine on our shoulders. Once again, I need to be in the company of neighbors walking their dogs and stopping to chat along our quiet road.
Most of all, I ache for a return to a time when peace, love and kindness existed in the world before what had been considered normal went dark in January. Just imagine such a world if you can, and keep breathing in, breathing out.