In March
Why I don’t love spring + a Book Club reveal
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Hello,
In theory at least, we are in meteorological spring, the seasonal equivalent of the popular vote, when we all feel that things are finally happening after a long winter. Personally, I stepped outside this morning into thick fog, with ice crusting the puddles left by the weekend’s rain. But let’s generously say that a change is in the air, even if it is two steps forward and one step back.
To be fair, the signs are there. The crocuses I planted in November are in flower at the bottom of my greengage tree, and the narcissi have poked up their leaves. When I woke this morning it was beginning to get light outside, and the afternoons (although not yet the evenings) are long. The cat, who has been restless all winter, has found a spot under glass on the bedroom windowsill where she bakes herself like a hot brick all day. Suddenly, she is drowsy, content. I’m yearning to feel the same.
This spring has caught me unawares. For the entire year so far, the world seems to have been producing an awful lot of events, most of them terrible, and this has had the strange effect of making the time feel empty. It should, by rights, feel full, but I’ve been pulled away from real life so often that I didn’t notice it happening. January and February feel a lot like a doomy absence, disconnected from all the things that sustain me. I feel pulled up at the roots.
March is a lovely time to grow those roots again. It’s hard not to feel hopeful when you get outside and see catkins and pussy willows, folds of primroses and shivering snowdrops. Despite that, I must admit that it’s probably my third favourite season; as I get older, I think I might even begin to like summer better, which relegates it to fourth. I don’t love the spring light; it’s too green and watery. And the shops are filling with Creme Eggs, which are my nemesis. It’s not enough to simply avoid eating them; I need to be assured that they don’t exist. Every March, I’m forcibly reminded that they do. I don’t like it.
Most of all, spring feels like a season of immanence, like held breath. I spend the whole time waiting for something to happen. Maybe I’m being churlish. I’m as fond of birds building nests and pastel-coloured wildflowers as anyone. It’s just all so damp, and I still need to go outside in scarf and gloves. March is a gateway to that liberated feeling that the warmer months bring, without quite allowing you to arrive. You can feel it coming in the distance, but for now it is a just dot on the horizon.
Still: two weeks to the equinox, the day of equal light and dark. That must surely mean something.
What I’m loving in March:
A lot of peanut-butter cracker sandwiches. I’m writing.
The audiobook app Spiracle, which offers a curated selection of titles. It’s like browsing an indie bookshop - such a breath of fresh air.
Like I Say (I runaway) by Nilüfer Yanya
Secret thing about me: I love a political diary. Ungovernable somehow feels like escapism right now.
Forest Feast Dark Salted Chocolate Almonds (aaand I just discovered you can buy them by the case. Oh dear.)
Cult Pens Deadly Nightshade ink (complete with tiny skulls)
Not being on Instagram very much.
The Black Utopians by Aaron Robertson.
The Key to the Kingdom, a vintage playing card deck full of riddles.
This alcohol-free Dirty Lemon Soda recipe from the NYT.
Buying summer blouses on Vinted.
A podcast episode about our poignant love of decay.
True Stories Book Club update
I’m excited to say that April’s True Stories Book Club will be Out of Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer. It’s a memoir in which Dyer attempts to write a biography of D H Lawrence, but somehow gets endlessly diverted. I thought it might be time for some light relief, but although this is a very funny book, it also packs a serious underlying punch, exploring how to live well, and what a life’s work means.
I checked today and there are copies available at Barnes & Noble in the US, Bookshop in the UK, and all the usual secondhand suspects. But hopefully this gives you time to order from your local Indie bookshop if you possibly can.
For now, though, we continue with the wonderful Braiding Sweetgrass, which is knitting its way into my entire life at the moment. This week, we reach section 4, also called Braiding Sweetgrass, which is community, belonging, and what it means to be indigenous. I was particularly moved by the account of sitting in circle, and what that brings - it made me think of the intimacy of true listening.
I’d love to know your thoughts on this section before next week’s grand finale (that may be overplaying it). Do you think you could ever feel indigenous to a place? How has the book changed the way you see the world?
Until then, take care,
Katherine
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I like the Scandinavian concept of vårvinter, it being the time between winter and spring, almost another season, where the snow is gone, but it’s still cold, but spring is not yet here. It is still time to be quiet and to nourish oneself, but the impetus to be out and doing can wait, just a little longer…
Autumn arrived here in Auckland, New Zealand quite sharply and matter of factly. It is fresh, and suddenly I find myself wanting to collapse in a heap and hibernate. I recognize that bone tiered feeling in me, but the world is raging on and just never seems to tiere. Enjoyed making some pancakes on Tuesday, and have decided to fast from social media which already has allowed me more more mental room to enjoy and absorb this nourishing subscription . I hope you find some time to find a comfortable spot and take some rest like your cat. They make it looks so easy! As for the creme eggs everytime I go to the grocery store I convincingly tell myself they last year's stock, so far it is working 😂