The Scent of Spring

For all the benefits of rural life in mid-Michigan, it comes with a requirement: patience and, at times, a few well-timed diversions. I’m not someone who dislikes cold weather; in fact, I appreciate all four seasons and the distinct rhythm each one brings. But if I’m honest, winter’s final stretch is the hardest. Not the beginning. Not even the middle. It’s the drawn-out ending – the part that lingers longer than expected – that can feel relentless. Around here, winter isn’t over until it’s truly over, and that can stretch well into the first week May.

March and April are what we call “mud” season. The ground remains frozen, so when it rains, the water has nowhere to go. It sits, and depending on the temperature, turns everything muddy and uninviting. This year, April has arrived gently, and mud season has been manageable. Now begins the quiet anticipation, the search for signs that the landscape is waking up. We are on the search for delicate tree buds waiting to emerge, for the pond frogs to peep incessantly, and daffodils to push through the soil. The lake, once sealed under ice, has finally opened, and with any luck, we won’t see that frozen surface again until late November.

The changing seasons shape more than the landscape, they guide my kitchen. I try to cook in step with what’s available, using ingredients that are available at this time of year. This past winter, green cabbage had become a real favorite. Sautéed with Szechuan peppercorns and dried chilis, then finished with a splash of tamari or soy, it’s simple and unexpectedly vibrant.

Root vegetables like kohlrabi, beets, turnips, and sweet potatoes continue to anchor meals in these colder months, offering both versatility and comfort. Braised meats, flavorful stews and hearty soups and potages all reign at the table. Soon enough, asparagus, artichokes, and, hopefully, foraged ramps will take their place. Each season brings its own inspiration, pushing me to think and cook differently and pay closer attention to what is appropriate to prepare.

Growing up on the East Coast, the arrival of spring felt unmistakable. Easter marked a turning point in the year, a signal that winter had loosened its grip. Trees softened with pale yellow-green leaves that, from a distance, blurred into something almost impressionistic. Crocuses, daffodils, and tulips added color to each passing day. But what I remember most is the scent of a fresh, earthy smell rising from the soil. The moment it appeared in the cool air, I knew the shift had happened. Winter had passed. The ground was waking, ready to grow again.

So for now, I wait for that signal – the scent of soil carried on the breeze. A small but certain sign that the season is changing, and something new is about to begin.

Travel has become one of our ways to bridge that in-between time. January took us to Salt Lake City to celebrate a friend’s birthday with a spa day, a memorable dinner, and time spent laughing, shopping, getting matching tattoos, and enjoying a change of scenery. Later in the month, I slipped away to West Palm Beach with a longtime friend, where I also had the chance to reconnect with a mentor who continues to influence both my career and perspective. Those relationships remain deeply important – steady sources of insight and growth.

In February, we headed to Boise to spend time with our grandkids while their parents took a well-deserved trip. Any time with those kids feels like a gift. Whether we travel to them or they come to us, those moments are the ones we prioritize most.

Then, at the end of March, an impromptu trip to New York City found its way onto the calendar. It had been two years since our last visit, and returning felt both familiar and energizing. New York City will always feel like home. We spent the day with our daughter and friends and capped it off with a Broadway performance of Death of a Salesman, starring Nathan Lane and Laurie Metcalf. The performances were remarkable, powerful, precise, and deeply moving.

Next up is another trip to Boise, this time to celebrate our granddaughter’s fifth birthday. As grandparents, we make a deliberate effort to be present – to show up, stay engaged, and mark the moments that matter. It’s a role I don’t take lightly. Being a grandparent is a privilege, and one I never expected in quite this way. Still, it’s one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given. Above it all, I know I’m the lucky one.