Maybe it started in the garden in the back of the house I grew up in. My dad out there tinkering with tomato trellises, and building little fences to prevent the woodchucks and bunnies from eating our cucumbers and beans, like they were doing a stop in at Mickey D.’s. Maybe it was the fact that we had a lot of perennials around our yard, and my mom was always picking flowers and making sweet little arrangements. Whatever it was, although, I had a period of being able to kill a plant just by looking at it, I have grown to love the act of gardening. Yesterday, I filled my trunk with a first round of flowers. Just enough to give me something to look at on the front porch, and a little color in the backyard. I bought myself some new, peppy orange gloves, but when I got home, realized I’d bought a kid’s size, so I had to go all natural. And while I will be digging dirt from underneath my nails until next spring, it was sort of transformative to have my hands submerged in the damp, black soil, primping and patting the flowers into their new homes, as the sun shone down, and the memories of that snow became so five minutes ago. Yes, I had to pull out the sleeping bag coat on Saturday for a soccer game in New Hampshire (and damn, I swore I’d never talk to that thing again), but yesterday, yesterday was bliss. Yesterday was spring. Yesterday was gratitude.