Natural Rhythms
As we sink into another lockdown a sense of quiet despondence has blanketed our neighbourhood. Gone are the teddies in windows, rainbows on footpaths, cities of spoons and secret surprise gifts left on doorsteps. Gone are the evening dress up dinners and zoom calls and messages flowing throughout the day and late into the evening from friends both near and far. A deep sense of fatigue has set in, a real sense of plod, one foot in front of the other, over and over and over, until we reach the other side. My old optimistic self would be counting down the days, 5 days is nothing right? But my 18 months into a global pandemic self has hit a place of realism, perhaps bordering on pessimism… who knows… we may be home for weeks.
Our lock downs are luxurious, filled with privilege, a beanbag and a dooner on a heater vent, a fridge and freezer stocked to the brim with delicious nutritious food, the love and laughter of family, neighbours to chat to, forests to wander in and access to health care any time we need it. We want for nothing, and honestly, if I had to choose to be locked down anywhere, it would be exactly where I am.
But I am longing for predictability, a sense of certainty, a knowledge of what will come next. I know that is where I thrive, and where my children thrive. Each new interruption to the routines I am lovingly creating for my family feels like a personal blow, one more great mountain to climb before we can get back into the swing of normal.
Throughout lock downs our rhythms and routines that hold our weeks together are missing, so when tension rises inside our walls we step outside of them. We spend time digging for worms in our back garden until our fingers are frozen, riding bikes in the rain on our street, filling gumboots with puddle water and flicking mud up our backs, then we snug ourselves warm on the beanbag by the front window, looking out at the huge camelia bush, heavy with plump buds and a few eager early blooming white flowers. Yesterday Joel called out with excitement as he noticed our dear friend wattle bird hopping amongst the branches. “They are back mum!”
And right then I was reminded that while the external routines I create for my family have been interrupted by lock down, the natural rhythms that surround us remain.
Each year we watch the buds on the camellia grow throughout the early winter - from tight green almonds to chubby golf balls ready to burst with pollen and petals – and as we watch them grow we anticipate the return of our wattle bird friends when they finally burst into blossom. A pair of wattle birds spend the last month of winter hopping amongst their branches, flitting from flower to flower, coating their little mottled heads in yellow pollen and feasting on nectar while vigorously defending their tree from the resident currawongs.
While we are waiting for the first camellias to bloom, we notice sprays of golden wattle on the roadsides around our home. Not long after the wattle and the camellia burst to life the magnolias also blossom, and I know it won’t be long before the garden is full of the vibrant pinks and reds of the rhododendrons. I know that if we walk in the forest while the rhododendrons are blooming we will hear the songs of the lyrebirds, and if we sit still for long enough we might see pairs of kookaburras and rosellas checking out tree hollows to find a suitable place to nest. And then spring will be upon us and we will feast on the berries on the prickly currant bushes! Meanwhile our wattle birds will be the first song we hear in the morning, while we are still tucked up warm in our beds. We will watch them through the window, we will sing to them while we are in the garden and we will laugh at their zoomies through our back yard, right over our heads.
We noticed the Jonquils are in bloom down the hill in Monbulk, so we hurried to the end of our street, to old Luis’s house, to look at the daffodils beginning to poke their little heads out of the ground in his field, they always bloom a few weeks after their friends down the hill. When they are in bloom we will pick a bunch for each house on the street, like we do each year, and fill our own house with vases with the fragrant blossoms until we are all sneezing. Our washing basket is filled with wet and muddy clothes and the bathroom smells like gumboots drying on the heater vent. We will cook our food slowly, warm soups and stews, scent our house with the peel of oranges and mandarins and drink lemony tea, our winter delights, while enjoying the daily mists on our mountain. We know these joys don’t last forever, it won’t be too long before our lips are stained with cherry juice!
While the loss of the routines and rhythms that we construct around ourselves leaves us feeling desolate and vulnerable, perhaps it is time to step into our connection with nature, to embrace the rhythms and routines that we don’t hold control over, that even a global pandemic can’t interrupt, and welcome the predictability and comfort that they bring.
“The dewdrops taste like the berries that we can eat in the Springtime mum!”
