Just before we leave for the evening, the girls run out and cut some lilacs branches. On our kitchen table, forsythia sticks from a friend soak up water in a jar, their yellow blossoms half-open.
Since my girls were little, our house’s doors were a porous membrane between wild Vermont around us and our domestic space: moss, pebbles, fungus, bark…., tempered off in the snowy winters.
In Vermont, April, not March, is the season of in like a lion, out like a lamb. All night long, wind rushed around our house, the official month of opening the windows.
… truth, which I believe to be both unchanging and at the core of all art. I think the essential thing about truth is that it must be experienced, and in order to be experienced, I think it has to appear nakedly, not woven into inherited notions.
—Karl Ove Knausgaard, So Much Longing In So Little Space: the Art of Edvard Munch
4 thoughts on “Forcing Spring”
I have a forsythia that I can’t get to easily. That’s what I’ve always forced at other houses where I’ve lived. Maybe I’ll try my hand at lilacs–they line the road out front. Happy Thursday!
In full disclosure, I’ve never forced a lilac — this is a total experiment. Our forsythia I’m presuming is yet beneath all this snow…. yet to be revealed.
Great post 😁