A time lapse of the same vantage point in my backyard during przedwiosnie, or the time before spring.
The Mann Leiser Memorial Greenhouse at Russian Jack Springs Park in Anchorage captures przedwiosnie, or the time before spring. On this day, it was 12 degrees outside with icicles covering the outside of the greenhouse. Inside, plants basked in warmth.
The track at Wendler Middle School in Anchorage before spring has really arrived.
A late snowfall weighs down an apple blossom, capturing the Polish word przedwiosnie, or the time before spring, which we experience in Alaska.
I came across the Polish word przedwiosnie recently. The meaning is something like "pre-spring" or the time before spring.
That's a perfect word for what we experience in the north, when the calendar says it's spring officially and our friends and family in the Lower 48 are showing off their daffodils or peonies or whatever happens to be blooming in their backyard. Up here, we have to look for more subtle signs of change as we endure more days of gray or decaying snow.
Sure, the days are longer. Our pets might be more eager to go outside and explore, as they can pick up scents and signs more clearly than we can. But if we're attentive, we might be the first to spot crocuses-often emerging next to buildings that catch a lot of afternoon sunlight.
I'm glad to learn the Polish have a word for this time, as English lacks such precision. Przedwiosnie captures the anticipation of spring. A friend told me what she likes best is the lime-green vividness of the leaves early in the season, before the chlorophyll has had a chance to start cranking. She gets it.
Spring is wonderful, no doubt. But, oh, the waiting for it. The feeling that tomorrow we're going to wake up and the first buds will open, the first seagulls will fly overhead, and the first moose calf will find its legs.
Happy przedwiosnie.
