The other day – a cold one, which means it was sunny – I glanced out a southside front window at the bird feeder to see who was there. The yard beyond the porch lay about a foot deep in snow, smooth and white all the way down to the big steel sculpture and the now-spectral tamaracks around our old dog’s grave. Very quiet. Just then a single bead of melted snow dripped past the window. I kept looking. A second, a third, and then more plunged by. A comforting calm suffused the room. It was happening!
In February in New England, no matter how cold and snowy the winter’s been, and how long it feels (brace yourself; it’ll feel a lot longer by the end of March), the sun, almost suddenly, it seems, becomes irresistible. Stepping out from the shadow of the house, where the thermometer reads down near the single numbers, into the light of the late morning sun, you can feel its power. Years ago, when we lived in Hanover, we had a pair of Swedish neighbors. On sunny February days, driving past their glass-fronted house, it was hard not to see the Gundersons, stretched out on lawn chairs in bikinis, soaking up the heat.
Looking at the extended weather forecast, I see a string of days in the mid- to high thirties, which, after the recent slow passage of an arctic vortex, seems almost heavenly. They end with a cold snap, of course, but it’ll be brief, and then our progress toward spring will recommence.
This year, I’ve been looking forward to the change with more than usual enthusiasm, mainly because I see in it a metaphor for the life of our nation. Following the events in Minneapolis and reflecting that all those millions of dollars being spent to send masked bullies to terrorize the citizens of a state that has displeased the executive, are millions that would have been better spent on health care insurance premiums. On the other hand, the massive, cooperative response of the people of Minneapolis, standing in bitter cold and swarming the streets, has been inspiring. The current drawdown of agents, if indeed true, is hardly a victory – rather like the coming temporary spell of warm weather – but it’s a really big deal. The tin ears that characterize so many of our “leaders” finally seem to have heard the angry voices of hundreds of thousands of voters. There’s this, too: the good folks of Minneapolis can perhaps get their toes and fingers warm for a few days, and I expect they’ll enjoy a renewed sense of community solidarity.
When winter shuts us down during the darkest, shortest days of the year, it’s easy to hunker down emotionally and emulate the groundhog. In the same way, it’s been easy to confuse all the bad news from Washington with a permanent condition. Think of all the distractions that’ve been thrown at us on the past few months, and the government attacks on science, education, law firms, and health care, to name a few – all to draw our attention away from an explosive set of documents that, when eventually made public, will expose severe rot at the highest levels (“highest” – what irony!) of society and government.
If our so-called experiment in democracy is to survive, we need to join the folks of Minneapolis in expressing mass dissatisfaction with the status quo. I’ve been delighted in recent days by the performance of Vermont’s new (and only) member of Congress, who’s been chipping away at the dishonest testimony of various members of the Administration. Just as it was important for the Minneapolitans to keep demonstrating and protesting till they were heard, it’s crucial that no one who testifies before Congressional committees be given a free pass. The conviction must be planted among those who are lying to protect the more powerful that the peasants are buying pitchforks and the day of reckoning is not very far off.
You’ve probably noticed in recent weeks that there have been a few defections, in particular instances, of members of the majority party, people who a year ago wouldn’t have dreamed of such a thing, for fear of retribution. But now, with the endorsement of the president having become sometimes the kiss of death for an aspiring politician, I can begin to smell – if you know what I mean – the aroma of boiling maple sap wafting through the woods. For me, that’s been for decades the irrefutable and reliable harbinger of spring. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for hints of disintegration in the chaotic organization that’s kept us in a political winter and give thanks for a tiny drop of meltwater off the eave that assures us it can’t possibly last.
