By Patricia Lee Sharpe
This morning was supposed to feature a snowshoe expedition that would have us tromping up the floor of Black Canyon, then circling down via the slope of one of the flanking hills—but the snow cover is shrinking hereabouts, so we used yak trax and crampons instead: an easy hike under sunny skies. Which isn’t to say we didn’t have to backtrack after missing a turn, a useful reminder that it’s fiendishly easy to get lost in our juniper and piñon forests. Or that I didn’t end up with a bloody hole in my knee when I tripped over my own feet. But hey! Nothing wrong with a little drama during a snowy stroll!
Yet winter was lingering only on the Black Canyon side of the road leading up to the ski basin. The other side was totally devoid of snow. Well, there was the odd patch or two, but mos
t of the white stuff had melted so long ago on southern and western exposures that mud, too, is a phenomenon of the recent past. Normal arid desert conditions are returning.
In short, spring has come to the Sangres, and to my garden. Now I don’t work very hard on my garden. I’d rather write (sort of) or go hiking (yes!), as I did this morning. But I planted some crocus bulbs some years ago—and they have done what crocuses are supposed to do: they have multiplied. Modestly, anyway. Much as I like snow, there comes a time when winter is supposed to be over, and crocuses very adroitly serve notice. Get ye gone! Enough! Time for life to return. Time for greening. Time for flowering.