That Irresistible First Leaf
Spring is coming, and we can't stop it.
It’s been a hard winter here in Casper. We spent ten years in Minnesota, and we got used to snow beginning in October, accumulating in deep freezes through New Year’s and beyond, and remaining on our lawn until at least May. Now after seven winters here in Wyoming, we’ve appreciated how our high, breezy clime typically brings mild February and March days between bursts of cold and flurries. But not this year.
After our Ash Wednesday blizzard, snow still remains hard-packed and drifted ridiculously high. Multiple friends live in homes where sheets of white cover most of the façades except for the roofs. One, inspired by relatives further north in Wyoming, put up a handmade sign in front of his impromptu igloo: “$5 for pictures, $10 for video.” Another friend, Vicki, has lived on the mountain for nearly a quarter-century, says she hasn’t seen a winter this hard here. This year, she’s weathered countless hours of snow-blowing her long driveway as well as needing heavy machinery to plow it out. “I’m so over it,” she said recently. Bear Trap Meadow, close to the main trailhead for the Nordic skiing we love, currently measures at 125% of the normal snowpack for this time of year at 36 inches. Last week, as we set out to ski between storms, the drifts surrounding the road towered over our car. The route was almost unrecognizable—kind of like Vicki after she blows snow.
When there’s this much snow and cold in March, we know there’s a long way to go until we can enjoy consistent warm weather and lush green visages. But there’s hope. Last week, I saw a report in the Wall Street Journal about early sprouting trees, mostly in the American southeast but in other areas, too. First leaf usually happens several weeks from now, but “leaves are appearing earlier than usual on forsythias in Maine, sugar maples in New York and eastern redbuds in Virginia.” I learned that one measure of spring comes from four stages of growth for certain plants: first leaf, the emerging, earliest buds; then full leaf, where all buds show small leaves; then first bloom, when the first flowers open; and finally full bloom, the bower of fresh flowers on the trees at their springtime peak. It’s a beautiful, vibrant process to witness. A director of horticulture in New York City saw a honeybee in a crocus flower almost a month ago. “[His] first reaction was, ‘You go, girl. Get out there to get that pollen.” (The article is behind a paywall; you can read it here and see a partial visual of the interactive map below.)
In the autumn, I find the coming of winter as a kind of inexorable onslaught, a magnificent, malignant might. I respect it in the way that something dangerous demands watchfulness and a fair measure of wariness. Though it occurs seasonally like winter, spring doesn’t strike me the same way and never has. It’s gentler, more subtle and coaxing in its coming, and certainly auspicious and promising rather than threatening. But its coming is no less forceful.
We Christians need this reminder as much as anyone. Vicki texted me last week that she’d read a devotion in The Treasury of Daily Prayer and thought, “Well, I think I just got instructed by God to quit complaining about the snow!” The reading was that for March 5, from the book of Job. Elihu, one of Job’s friends, speaks to the majesty of God. Here’s part of it.
“At this also my heart trembles
and leaps out of its place.
2 Keep listening to the thunder of his voice
and the rumbling that comes from his mouth.
3 Under the whole heaven he lets it go,
and his lightning to the corners of the earth.
4 After it his voice roars;
he thunders with his majestic voice,
and he does not restrain the lightnings when his voice is heard.
5 God thunders wondrously with his voice;
he does great things that we cannot comprehend.
6 For to the snow he says, ‘Fall on the earth,’
likewise to the downpour, his mighty downpour.
7 He seals up the hand of every man,
that all men whom he made may know it.
8 Then the beasts go into their lairs,
and remain in their dens.
9 From its chamber comes the whirlwind,
and cold from the scattering winds.
10 By the breath of God ice is given,
and the broad waters are frozen fast.” (Job 37: 1-10)
What a reminder of what God can do! We fallible sinners so easily forget Who is in charge. Only God can create monstrous storms of billowing, blinding snow, of winds that can whip and flip over vehicles. Only His voice creates what we see; He speaks and it is done, from thunderstorms to rain showers to long and violent winters. A choral piece I sang years ago spoke of this, the natural revelation that reveals God to all of us. Wonders of the natural world “His awful name declare,” the words went, and I always shuddered at that line, with the mix of fear and love Luther so aptly ties together in explaining how we should understand God. In the traditional sense of the word, awful means to inspire awe. God is awful because of His power, and we see it only to a degree, and only in certain times, in the terrible, terrific domination of our weather on our earth. God is working in our world as ice freezes and blizzards whirl.
This could be solely terrifying, but it is also inspiring. We will invariably slog through more cold, snow, and wind in the next few months. The weather is not ours to control. However, spring will come and is coming, no matter how hard winter fights. The growth is waiting, just waiting. The long-dormant trees will suddenly mist into a soft green, and their tiny buds will unfurl. The seasonal progression marches on; spring is meant to irresistibly overcome winter. And God intends this! The color and the gold are promised to us. His mighty hand destroys and gives life. He is always faithful.
Out of the north comes golden splendor;
God is clothed with awesome majesty.
23 The Almighty—we cannot find him;
he is great in power;
justice and abundant righteousness he will not violate.
24 Therefore men fear him;
he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceit.” (Job 37:22-24)