The rapidly increasing sunlight has continued from the spring equinox through mid and late April, bringing with it a succession of beautiful flowers, blossoming trees, and young sprouts. We gathered self-seeded Arugula that had wintered in our garden along with wild onions that grow throughout our town, followed by ramps, a garlicky early green that we used in omelets. In our garden, tender young plants including peas, red romaine, and oregano are rising from the still cool soil towards the life-giving light. The first asparagus stalks from a bed we started three years ago are appearing, hopefully marking the start of years of productivity.

The spring in our area, always beautiful, has been remarkably so this year. Pale purple periwinkle, bright yellow and white daffodils, beautifully scented ivory hyacinths, and lemony Forsythia have been followed by reddish purple money plants, yellow tulips, Virginia bluebells, white Star Magnolia, and pinkish-purple Sugar Magnolia. As usual, the beauty of the Sugar Magnolia trees was suddenly cut short by a hard freeze in early April. However, following the cool-down, the warmth returned and the Earth blossomed in earnest once again with abundant flowering Crabapples, purple Redbuds, and White and Cherokee Red Dogwoods. Amid the beauty, we experienced “Dogwood Winter” in true form—a cold snap that brought light snow to our area, forcing us to cover our tender young greens.

I asked another gardener whose family is from southern Virginia if she has heard of Dogwood Winter and she quickly spoke of her Mom’s “three winters of spring”—Redbud, Dogwood and Blackberry. Since Redbuds and Dogwoods bloom at the same time here, I imagine that her Mom’s Redbud Winter coincides with the hard cold that normally freezes our Sugar Magnolia’s in early or mid-bloom in late March or early April.

“My Mom insisted that there were three winters in spring,” she said. So far this year, her Mom appears to be correct.

In the midst of Dogwood Winter we drove out in the early morning to pick up our Granddaughter from her parents’ home. Patches of mist and fog came up from rivers and streams, shrouding the budding trees in velvety, white-blue clouds. As we drove the toddler back to our home, we pointed out the fog, the beautiful blooming trees, and cows and horses on the hillsides. The child was delighted with the new experiences, as we shared the beauty of the Earth with our young loved one. Seeing the Dogwoods, Redbuds, and other trees amidst patches of fog through her young eyes, we felt the magic of the living world that she is experiencing for the first time. And, of course, her friend Peter Rabbit came to our feeder, providing the youngster with even more delight—a gift that our older, more calloused hearts could experience through her love of life.

Paired with this beauty was a correspondence with an old friend, who I had not heard from since my early days of college. She comes from a puritan background, as many of the people from my original county do, but she and I have always had an affinity, a forthrightness, and a mutual sense of trust and kindness towards the other. Quickly we began to catch up on decades of life passed and to my great grief she related very hard trials endured in childhood and adulthood.

At the outset, I told her that I was glad that her faith had survived her trials, since I have known that faith can be a source of strength to all people. Long ago, I realized that our spiritual beliefs are rarely chosen. Rather, the connection that we have with the sacred is chosen for us by circumstances and our deepest natures. Her trials, like so many women and some men, were caused by hurtful, selfish men, and we found, despite our differences, a commonality that women should be empowered and older women should be respected, rather than tossed aside by the mainstream patriarchal culture.

As we talked, I saw that the universality of patriarchal oppression in the family frequently unites many of us across political divides—the divides themselves are ways that fellow travelers like my old, trusted, and kindhearted friend and myself are separated by patriarchal polarity.

The unity of oppression of the family and women by patriarchs and men of all political stripes—regardless of the lip-service so many men pay to respecting women and children in liberal or conservative ways—struck me. I considered that in my own frustration, I have vented about political issues without acknowledging the ideals of others.

Accordingly, when my old friend mentioned frustration with politics, I asked her to tell me of her ideals and how she applied them, knowing that we would again find common ground. We did so once again in the ideals of caring for children and others around us in a conscientious, family-and-community-oriented way.

Reflecting on my perspective, I emailed her this simple summary:

What I try to say, when I am doing it well, in my writing and blog is "Take part in 'Woman's Work' in daily life--it is a good thing to do and it will make your life happy and fulfilling."

My old friend, hard working and conscientious, far from me in background, culture, and other aspects of life, wrote back:

“Ah, well forgive me I have worked the last 3 nights and days so I am a little slow. But truer words were never spoken.”

As always, the modesty and simple acceptance of women doing the work of life speaks volumes for the casual disregard that our culture gives to bringing forth life in our personal world—yet none of us would have grown to adulthood or have experienced true happiness had not others, mainly women, provided it in abundance to us.

A twelve-step group I am a part of makes it clear that the group is focused singularly on the problem of addictions, explicitly saying that it does not endorse or support any other cause, political, religious, or otherwise. As I consider the commonality of my friend and fellow travelers through patriarchy, I wondered if there could be a way to singularly focus on the empowerment of the Feminine in the family, particularly of the women and children who so often are taken for granted at best and, tragically, frequently harmed by varying forms of abuse by bullies, who are mainly men. A common part of the essential is that our children and families must be supported and protected by our communities. If this goal and this goal alone were attained, it is likely that most of the unnecessary suffering we endure would fade into the past.