One of my favorite children's books is a Little Golden Book titled Four Puppies. Written in 1960 by Anne Heathers, and endearingly illustrated by Lilian Obligado, the story is told through the eyes of four little puppies as they first experience summer, fall, winter and spring. The pups venture outside at the beginning of summer. For weeks, they play with the butterflies and romp in the grass. They're so busy playing that they don't notice their world is changing until the cold wind has changed their world so much that they can't play the same games anymore.
"Those four puppies tried to put the petals back on the rose. They tried to put the leaves back on the trees. But they couldn't, so they started to cry."
A wise and friendly red squirrel consoles them. He explains what is happening and how they will love the snow and icy puddles to come. By year's end, the puppies have learned of the wonders and losses each season holds, both in the year -- and in a broader sense -- in their lives, for they have now grown into big, brave dogs.
When I was a child, I understood one aspect of this book. I was born with an intense love for all things plant and animal, and everything in my world was described in relation to that love. I wanted dresses to be "the color of daffodils" and blankets to be "soft like pup dogs."
Now, with some snow in my mane, I see the book from a different perspective -- perhaps the one from which these women actually wrote it. I consider the tender tale to be required reading -- and to be read annually, seasonally or daily as the need fits.
This week, I write my column with the windows open as the breeze carries sounds of spring across my desk. What was once an asphalted parking lot has slowly transformed into a tiny oasis of life between my loft and office. Bulbs are brimming, birds are singing and even the three earthworms who survived tragic beginnings in a prior column are creating multitudes of wiggly offspring all over my garden.
I spent the weekend weeding, putting up trellises and sowing beans, peas, okra and petunias. Baxter spent his time primarily in a supervisory capacity, while the bunnies munched on spearmint and my indoor kitty escaped from the second-story porch onto the neighbor's roof. That was not a fun retrieval experience.
I rested in the old teak rocking chair, looking about the garden. Mama's iris mingled with Grammy's crepe myrtle and my beloved roses, and the steel chicken Uncle Ronnie and I got years back stood proudly atop the courtyard wall.
Sometimes, it's hard to love the snow when you miss the leaves. But letting the good things of the past grow with the good things of the present has always produced for me a beautiful future -- and one very wayward cat.
NAN Our Town on 04/21/2016