Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Starting before anyone is quite ready, but not at all unwelcome, these are the first unfurling leaves of the fig trees I’ve overwintered in the garage. What a happy sight to see their buds swell and burst, and now the bright unfolding of the foliage. I don’t bother to get too attached – these first leaves tend to be killed off by late freezes and the shock of the sun after an unlit garage – but behind them will be the leaves and fruit that will see us through the summer to come. 

Last year we had quite the fig harvest – starting in mid-summer and going into the fall. Hopefully this year will allow us to reap similar riches. If not, these handsome leaves and the enchanting form of their branches will have to suffice. Beauty will be enough. Sustenance would be a bonus. 

Do not be fooled by its cute fuzzy garb, or its seasonally appropriate appearance – the rabbit is one of the garden’s most destructive enemies. My own Easter bunny trauma aside, I happen to adore these woodland creatures, so I put up with a certain degree of destruction – such as chewed up bamboo plants or foot-high bark peeling of the dogwood trees. In fact, something ate the ever green boughs underneath which this puffball sits. Strange that it wouldn’t think not to harm the source of shelter, but they’re no different from any other creature whose main instinct is survival – reason and planning for the future fall by the wayside when the task at hand is merely surviving a winter of starvation. For that reason, my heart softens a bit, and forgives the loss of some bamboo and fir boughs. At this point in our gardens, nothing is so precious that it can’t be a gift to a hungry rabbit. 

This particular character is a happy sign of life returning to the outside world. Robins and blue jays and cardinals have already been chirping and flying to and fro in the front yard, while the squirrels have been making their usual ruckus in the backyard. Spring breathes new life into our surroundings. The world stirs, the land twitches, and the ice melts. The journey begins… 

This is the face I give when someone tries to schedule a Zoom meeting smack dab in the middle of a Saturday. 

You know who you are. 

Maybe I’d never noticed it before because I’d never seen a pinecone in just the right light. Or maybe I’ve just never been as observant as I thought I was. Whatever the case, and however the negligence occurred, my sheer delight in finding the painted striations on the inner structure of this pinecone has been unparalleled of late, when outside delights have been few and few between. On this sunny afternoon, when I took a stroll around the yard to see if anything had the courage to peep through the floor (a couple of daffodils on the south-facing wall were all I could find) it was a pinecone dropped from above that caught my eye and interest.

I’ve noticed pinecones before – and appreciated them for their architecture and form, the way nature sets some swirls into works of art that stick out from their surroundings through their radial perfection. And I’ve examined many pinecones up close, but this is the first I recall seeing such patterns within, and it’s one of those neat observations that, at the ripe age of 45, feels fresh and new and filled with wonder – the perfect embodiment of a proper spring start. 

We haven’t even reached Palm Sunday yet and already this Easter cactus is blooming. It may actually be a Thanksgiving cactus, or a Christmas cactus – and some years it’s showed off early and made itself a Halloween cactus. Whatever the case, at lease the sun is moving gin the right direction and duration, with more light, more heat, more joy to be held in each passing day. On with the recap, which includes the last days of this wretched winter.

The week began in somber fashion, as it marked the 30th anniversary of the day we lost Suzie’s Dad. 

Savannah sweetness and spice. 

Blues in my shower.

Witch’s spring finery.

Our new reality turned one (and probably smashed the fucking cake). 

Spring fragrance options are in the air. 

Hatching hope.

The arrival of spring. 

Spring, but slowly.

Naked vulnerability.

Soul spring Sunday.

Dazzlers of the Day includes Tom Bertram, Stacey Abrams, Cyrus McQueen, Marcus Lemonis, Soledad O’Brien,  Brian Sims, and Kevin Bruce.

Once upon a time, not so log ago, I’d intended for this time slot to be the space for a more spiritual and soul-sustaining sort of post. It fell by the wayside because, quite frankly, I forgot about it, and those spiritual posts have been peppered throughout the blog, so I’ve been sustaining it that way. Now I find myself on a Sunday afternoon at the very start of spring, when the sun is warming the earth, and the feeling of hope and of possibility is making me both giddy and contemplative. That’s actually one of my happiest states, so I’m going to take this state and enjoy it for a bit. 

Earlier in the day I did a minuscule amount of cleaning in the attic – and I mean minuscule: I moved two storage bins from the finished portion to the unfinished portion and called it a day. In that little effort however, I discovered that the unfinished part of the attic – which is not insulated and rather open to the outside elements – was retaining and multiplying the heat of the sun, like it does in summer. That definitely contributed to my happy countenance, and put a little spring into my step. So much so that I did a little more work up there (I found a single coat for donation!) 

This is more a physical spring-cleaning post than a spiritual maintenance post, but one begets the other, especially when a Virgo is involved. Only when my surroundings are in order can my mind find any hope of following. Happy Spring Sunday!!