In January I always think of spring. It is of course winter, according to the calendar, but winter, like any season can be very subjective. In Central American countries, Colombia and Venezuela they call our summer winter. This is the rainy season which means no sun and slightly cooler temperatures, or winters with a twenty-five degree average. My next door neighbour, who tends to see things in bold strokes of black and white is convinced that there is, in Vancouver anyway, no such thing as seasons. They overlap so much that to her, it is all one great big season. I tried to suggest that the seasons actually overlap but she doesn't like other points of view, at least if they are coming from me.
On the west coast of Canada we have eight seasons. Not four. We are right now enjoying an early sprinter which sometime in April will give way to spring. Spring soon becomes, usually in early June, sprummer, and by mid July we are in high summer. Summer becomes fummer at the end of August which at or shortly after the equinox turns into fall. In November finter begins, then sometime in December it is winter. So now it is sprinter. Birds are already singing, primarily the house finches, red wing blackbirds and a few robins, and we always have a few winter (I mean, sprinter) flowers. The air is never warm but bearable. Sometimes the temperature rises up to ten, almost never more. When the sun is shining for several days running it doesn't get above seven, but walking briskly in the sun is still nice and it is easy to stay warm wearing just a good winter coat.
There is a bit of a pattern here. December has to be horrible, really bad, with a prolonged cold snap and perhaps two or three days of snow. Occasionally but not often another cold snap will come sweeping in with a new batch of arctic air later in January or in February but this fortunately happens rarely. Already the early snowdrops are beginning to bloom, as are the pussy willows and the catkins of the hazel bush. The earth smells full of life and there is a lovely tension in the air as though the coming spring is already gathering strength before it comes bursting forth. There will soon be early crocuses poking their way through the ground but they almost never appear before Candlemas or Groundhog day. Before I began to attend regularly the Anglican Church I knew nothing about Candlemas, that little known holy day that celebrates the presentation of the Christ Child by his parents Joseph and Mary in the temple. It is a lovely celebration and the churches are full of lit candles. I am not knocking secularism and certainly not Protestant Christianity. I do find this celebration far lovelier than the prosaic Groundhog Day. Nothing against Groundhogs, by the way.
In January I crave fresh fruit more than ever, and this is when the blood oranges are in season, but they usually appear in the markets as early as Christmas. Whoever heard of red oranges! They taste to me like a mixture of orange and pomegranate though it is commonly claimed they taste more like raspberries. I have since learned that they contain iron and can have nearly double the amount of vitamin C of regular oranges. To me the blood orange is a fruit of passion, native to Sicily and Spain, regions and cultures renowned for passion and violence. There is an intensity about the blood orange, the flavour and appearance that makes it downright sexy. It is the rock star of citrus fruits. The Oscar-winning movie star.
I ate a blood orange today while walking between work assignments. It was a bit on the tart side, as they tend to be. I had an extra in my pocket but was not particularly hungry. After dinner I had about a dozen fresh strawberries. It is hard to imagine how my immediate ancestors must have coped between growing seasons with the lack of fresh fruit due to no refrigeration. Sometimes I am just overwhelmed with a sense of wonder and gratitude that, whatever the many problems and challenges that confront us in the world and in our lives that almost anyone with only a little money who lives in our northern climate can daily enjoy such fresh fruit from distant lands that would have been unimaginable to even our most recent ancestors. Here I want to leave aside for the moment all the concerns and points of view regarding the global food supply and food security and simply bask in this sense of gratitude and wonder. I really think that the gift of gratitude is the crowning glory of our humanity.
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