Finally.

Winter kicked my ass. It did so with a coy smirk and a sharp-toed boot, and I didn't like it. Not at all. It was long, this winter. It was cold, wet, and miserable for a thousand months, and I have decided to hold a grudge forever. I repeat, FOREVER. Or at least until summer comes and the misery becomes a very murky memory.

But! Today is not winter, as you may have noticed, and I am not as cross as I was for the past seven months. I am starting to thaw out, recover, and put away my boots. Spring isn't a rite of passage around here, you know. It is earned. And now that I have earned it, I am not giving it back, ever!

This past Wednesday marked my return to the farmers market, and today was my second go at it for the season. It is glorious. The earth is actually alive, I have learned, and green things are growing out of it! It's nothing short of a miracle.

I will tell you what I bought: asparagus, leeks, spring onions, spinach, chives, potatoes, basil, irises, radishes, potted herbs for the small & mighty garden, and a corncob with which to make Murray some popcorn. It was all good. Really good. Let's examine the other things that are happening here in my springtime living room: the windows are open, real birds are making real sounds outside, the fan is spinning, a peach candle is blowing its summer-ness around, the sun is shining, the dog is sighing and snoring in the sunlight, those irises are slowly unfurling their petals, the chives' scent is whooshing in from the kitchen, the floors are divinely gritty with sand because we have all spent the entire week galloping along the beach. Everything is leafier and greener and softer and better. 

Spring! It is not on my list of things that I hate about Chicago. Midwesterners would, I suppose, all endure something pretty awful in order to have a true spring like this, and lo and behold, we have! I am really proud of us. We survived! We did it. Finally.