Unexpected

That green grass in my Florida community looked so inviting and soft. It called to me to come out barefoot, to curl my toes around each soft blade. I longed to sit down cross legged under a tree in the shade and read my favorite book. Perhaps even take a nap on the cushioned green expanse. However, I learned quickly that this was all just an illusion. The grass was real, as was the color of it, but it is not a grass that is meant for anything other than appearances. It is filled with discomfort and the dangers of red fire ants, chiggers and other tiny biting creatures. The blades are sharp and can cut through your soft skin. This is an alien landscape. I used to think that Florida was a year-round lush setting. I thought of it as a place with no seasons, forever a perfect paradise with palm trees swaying in the wind and flowers blooming year-round. Much of that is true but the grass needs to be tough to endure the harsh blistering summers. Many of the trees shed their leaves in the hotter weather and the flowers are at their most brilliant in the cooler weather. As a transplant from up North, I needed to learn to emulate nature’s survival skills and adapt to my new home.   

Learning to live and love my new home doesn’t mean that I don’t still yearn for my seasons and the changes that come with them. I hated the ice and snow that kept me indoors, but I loved to look out at the pristine white blanket covering the hills around my house. I loved the bite of the freezing air on my face, knowing that I could just go back inside to warm up by the fire. I missed the smells and glorious colors of Autumn. Piles of leaves that you could roll in, soft as a feather bed. Summer was the season to be spent out of doors, lazily napping in the dappled shade or building sandcastles on the beach. But Spring was the season I missed the most. Spring was the season of new discovery. Excitedly waiting for the snows to melt and watching for the first snowdrops and crocus to poke their delicate heads above the greening grass. Those first Spring flowers were signs of nature’s rebirth, more appreciated because they seemed to rise from nothing.  The muted pink flowers cupped the raindrops, creating pools for the bees to bathe in. The stems rose from grass still a bit damp but soft and inviting.

Still homesick for that landscape, I ventured further afield in my new town. I explored the preserves and the mangrove forests. I came to an appreciation for my new home and all that it offered. I accepted that harsh surface that passed for lawn. Then, one day on a walk through a wetlands area, I saw them. My pink tiny flowers in a bed of soft grass. My sign of re-birth and renewal. My sign of acceptance of my new home.