Hello, fellow lovers of all things green. These early spring reflections came to me along a roadside walk. I invite you to walk with me.
I missed you last week, and I’m grateful to be with you today. Thank you to those who reached out after the last post, A Late Winter Walk to Remember. Your kind words meant more than you know.
When I sent my recent newsletter to my email list (I invite you to join the community if you haven’t already— sign up at the bottom of the post), I received a note from a dear client, Kathleen, adding a little red heart.
“Today I am grateful for Jolee.”
I’m sure she was reflecting on the wisdom of dogs. They embrace whatever comes next and live completely in the present moment. There’s something beautiful about that.
In the last post and podcast, I shared how walking in the rain sometimes feels like grace—the quiet rhythm of raindrops falling through the trees, the forest canopy sheltering you from above, the sense that whatever your heart is carrying has room to breathe.
That morning, as the rain touched my face, I felt God sharing tears of understanding with me. And beside me was Jolee, my faithful companion. Dogs don’t require explanations. They walk beside us, accepting whatever the day holds. We can learn so much from them.
Some walks happen deep in the woods, where the quiet invites reflection.
Other walks take place along country roads, where the stories are different—but no less revealing.
What winter leaves behind along the roadside… and an opportunity to make a difference.
Jolee and I often walk along the road near my home. It’s not the prettiest time of year when the snow melts each spring. It reveals what winter politely covered up—cans, bottles, and bits of debris tossed from passing vehicles.
Interestingly, many of the items are containers that held alcohol—spiked seltzers, light beer cans, and tiny bottles of cinnamon whiskey. Seeing them makes me wonder about the stories behind them. Were they tossed intentionally to hide a habit from someone at home? Or discarded without thought—ending up in roadside drainage systems or lingering in the woods, perhaps even harming wildlife?
For years, seeing litter along the road used to frustrate me. But somewhere along the way, my reaction changed.
Now I bring a bag with me and pick it up as I walk.
I didn’t realize when I began this routine—after Miss Ellie could no longer walk the roads with me, a few months before she passed in August of 2020—that there was even a name for it. If you’re jogging, it’s called plogging. If you’re walking, plalking. Hiking? That’s pliking.
Now I’ve mastered walking a dog—and picking up trash at the same time. 😊
Whatever the name, I’ve come to think of it as a bit like weeding the garden. Instead of being angry about the undesirables in the garden of life, you remove them.
There’s something surprisingly satisfying about being part of the solution.
Imagine if each of us picked up just a few pieces of trash along our daily routes. One neighborhood at a time, the world would be a little tidier.
Snowdrops—appearing as if overnight, little messengers that winter won’t last forever.
Early Spring Reflections Along the Road
Of course, the roadside offers beautiful things too in the early spring reflections—especially as snowdrops appear.
We had an unusual couple of days recently when the temperature jumped into the high seventies. As if on cue, the snowdrops popped out along the edge of the road.
One day, they weren’t there.
The next day, they were.
Those delicate white flowers (Galanthus) push through winter’s last crust of frost like tiny nodding bells. Sometimes they’re called Candlemas Bells, blooming near the early February holiday that celebrates light returning to the world.
There’s even a lovely legend that after Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden, an angel created snowdrops to reassure Eve that winter would not last forever—symbols of hope as the first flowers to appear.
I’ve often wondered how the ones along the road arrived there. Perhaps someone planted them, though it seems unlikely. Maybe birds moved the bulbs. Or perhaps angels scattered them.
No matter how they arrived, seeing them always lifts my heart.
Nature has a way of delivering encouragement exactly when we need it. In these early spring reflections, I’m reminded how gardens—and lives—carry on.
Miss Ellie still walks with me in spirit. 💚
Jolee had her own moment of enthusiasm on one of those warm days. She suddenly dropped and rolled in a spot where Miss Ellie used to do the same thing. It was one of those gentle reminders that life moves forward while still holding the memories of those we love.
Jolee spies Mr. or Mrs. Snapper – Link to story: Saving Snapping Turtles Lifts Spirits
A little farther along the road, we passed a pond. The center was still covered with a thin layer of ice, but the edges had melted in the warmth. There, slowly moving through the weeds, was a hand-sized snapping turtle—as if checking to see whether spring had truly arrived. I couldn’t snag a photo of the fella, but wondered if he was an offspring of the platter-sized turtle crossing the road in the fall two years ago.
Is the coast clear yet?
The Canada geese seem to be conducting their own inspections, too. Their calls overhead announce that ponds and lakes are reopening for landings.
Meanwhile, other signs of growth are appearing. Daffodil foliage is pushing through the soil in my front garden, despite the recent upheaval caused by the construction of a new boulder wall replacing the old telephone poles.
Some bulbs were disturbed during the work, so it will be fun to see where they decide to emerge this year.
Gardens, like life, have a way of rearranging themselves.
Lately, I’m reminded that even when life rearranges more than we expect, something hopeful is waiting just beneath the surface.
After disruption, growth returns—sometimes in the most unexpected places.
As I walked this morning, dictating notes into my phone as I often do, something curious happened. I was talking about the book I’ve been working on for quite some time—The Lesson of the Leaf. At least, that’s what I intended to say.
But the voice-to-text on my phone had other ideas.
Lesson of Belief.
Lesson of Relief.
And I had to laugh. Maybe they are all the same thing.
While reviewing the transcript from my previous podcast episode, I noticed something else. A small portion of the transcript was highlighted in golden yellow—something I hadn’t done.
It felt like a quiet nudge.
A God-incident, perhaps.
As if the message said, “Yes.” It’s time.
You will be the first to know when the self-published version is ready.
A “God-incident”—words highlighted without my doing, reminding me it’s time.
As spring unfolds, I’m noticing other signs of renewal around my home.
A curious House Finch, perhaps seeing a reflection—or imagining a place to call home.
A few days ago, a small bird was pecking at the metal hanger still holding the winter wreath on my front door. I suspect the little one—a House Finch—was seeing its reflection and thinking it was another bird, maybe even considering the wreath as a nesting spot.
Then another bird joined the ritual. I watched for a while and snapped a photo from inside before deciding it was best to remove the wreath before a nest could begin. Had it been made of natural materials, I might have moved it to a tree to serve as a nesting place.
Many of the daffodil bulbs came from the garden of my dear friend and design colleague, Marty Carson, who passed away in November. Her garden lives on here. So many perennials I cherish came from her.
Every spring, when the daffodils bloom,
I feel as though Marty’s spirit is blooming with them.
Spring is testing the waters.
And maybe so are we. Perhaps that is the gift of early spring reflections…
Sometimes the road reveals what we’d rather not see. But it also reminds us that small actions matter.
A piece of litter removed.
Snowdrops emerging.
A turtle testing the thaw.
Each one—a silent sign that the season is turning.
May we begin turning with it, too.
Garden Dilemmas? AskMaryStone@gmail.com or tune in on your favorite Podcast app.
Prefer to listen? You can hear this reflection in Episode 245 of the Garden Dilemmas podcast.
🌿 Related Posts & Episodes you’ll also enjoy:
A Late Winter Walk to Remember & March Folklore of Hope
Ep. 244 – A Late Winter Walk to Remember
Saving Snapping Turtles Lifts Spirits
Ep. 129 – Saving Snapping Turtles Lifts Spirits
Ep. 98 – Winter Flowers and Folklore
