No winter, no spring

Apparently it is spring in some parts of the world. My parents told me on the phone the other day that the daffodils I planted years ago at their farm have bloomed and faded.  My husband reminded me that taxes are due in less than a month.  But here in Guam, the sky and flora look just like summer, fall, and winter. 

It’s hard to keep track of the time when the seasonal markers are missing. The plumeria trees bloom perpetually. The bananas and palms seem to be in continuous fruit production. The mangoes, however, are just starting to fruit, and apparently only produce one crop a year.  And I am engaging in the springtime ritual of preparing a garden, thanks to my brother- and sister-in-law who sent some heritage seeds from the Hudson Valley. We’ll see how they do in Oceania. 

 

We’ve also set out some cuttings of bougainvillea and croton.  The kids accused me of stealing when I broke off the branch of a particularly deep magenta bougainvillea on the side of the road, but I tried to tell them I was encouraging stronger growth for the host plant and propagating a more beautiful island if I get this branch to root.  So many plants just seem to need some dirt to sprout.

It may not be the best time to do all this planting, since it has been relatively dry the past week.  Temperatures have been in the 90's, but it’s hard to tell, except when sitting in the direct sun at the soccer fields, since we’ve had such pleasant breezes.  Soccer isn't an indication of season here, either; the league plays all year round, to the dismay of my skin.  Although I wear a hat, sunscreen, and carry a sunbrella, I’ve noticed new age spots on my knees, alas. 

So I miss the time of year when the whole world seems full of promise and propagation. I miss the way the end of Lent coincides with the blooming of bulbs and flowering trees.  I wonder if someone on island grows Easter lilies, or if the Paschal altar will be adorned with orchids and bird-of-paradise and wild ginger. I'd like to wallow in a little self-pity that we don't have lilies-of-the-valley and lilacs here. 

But I honestly can't complain. On Saturday we spent the day at a party at one of the hotels that has a waterslide.  It also has beautifully landscaped grounds, ablaze in purple, yellow and magenta flowers.  The sun was shining, the kids and Japanese tourists were all smiling and bowing to each other as they jockeyed for position on the waterslide, the bartender was serving mai tais and pina coladas at the cabana, the water was turquoise.  And here we are, smelling like Coppertone SPF 80, trying to remind ourselves it's Lent.  So we didn't have any of the tiramisu. It was timely that I had just read the reflection from Benedictus for the Feast of St. Joseph:

"It is no accident that faith in God flows from a 'head sore-wounded,' from a crucified man, and that atheism has Epicurus for father and originates in the world of the satisfied onlooker."

The satisfied onlooker, that's me. A couple of days ago, I was driving across the island, and as I crested a hill, I was greeted by a stunning view of the horizon where the Philippine Sea met an especially vivid cloudless cerulean sky, framed by swaying coconut palms. It was a Wordsworthian moment transposed to the tropics.  The awe it inspired was intensified by the familiarity of having lived here half a year.    

It is easy to get together with other wives and sit around and complain about things like how hard it is to find certain products and to get repairs done correctly – we’ve taken our car in twice for air conditioning work, and it is still not fixed – but at the end of the day, we are blessed to have this experience, even though it wasn't the overseas assignment I would've asked for (Germany? Italy? the Far East?).  The kids are thriving, the pace of our life is steady but not harried, and we have ample opportunities to be filled with gratitude, despite the minor inconveniences and the feelings of displacement. The natural beauty of the island is sometimes obscured by trash and graffiti along the main road, but the ocean and sky are a source of perpetual wonder.  And since the mild weather allows outdoor activities all year long, we’re trying to take in as much of the natural beauty as we can.


The challenge of Lent perhaps is to figure out how to share this abundance of grace with others. The second part of that quote from Benedictus is "We must also learn that in addition to the Real Presence of Jesus in Church and sacrament there is that other, second real presence of Jesus in the least of our brethren, in the downtrodden of this world; he wants us to find him in all of them."  Being grateful is the first step, but not the last.