It’s been unseasonably warm the past few days, with highs in the 50s instead of the 30s we’d normally expect in February. Last night, before going to sleep, my husband opened our bedroom window. Just a few inches, but enough to let in a balmy rush of fresh air.
My god it smelled good.
After weeks with the house closed up, I always forget how flat the air inside becomes. When I come in from outside, I don’t notice a smell, good or bad. But when my husband opened that window, and the outside came in, the air became alive again with the scent of earth and mountain and dirt and rain. I fell asleep inhaling the air of the world outside, the world of water cycles, nitrogen cycles, growth and decomposition, clouds and wind and trees and worms.
I put my gardening vacation on the calendar this week. For one week in March, I will be out in that air all day every day. I will dig holes, move plants, shovel mulch, buy fresh, flowering annuals, and walk the garden beds morning, noon, and night looking for green shoots sprouting from the warming earth.
This night with the window open is both a blessing and a curse. I get to drink the air. Except, it’s only February, and I know it won’t last. I’ll torture myself if I think about how much I can’t wait for spring. Only seven weeks until my gardening vacation. I hope it doesn’t snow.