Last night, we celebrated the Vernal Equinox, the herald of Spring.

On the equinoxes, the Sun shines directly on the equator and the length of day and night is almost equal.

The March equinox – last night – marks the moment the Sun crosses the celestial equator – the imaginary line in the sky above the Earth’s equator – from south to north and then vice versa in September.

But the big deal for us is that the March equinox introduces the first full day of Spring, the season of color and light. This is a big day for anyone with a farm, even if you’re not a  farmer (which we are not.)

It told the farmer it was time to think of planting. No more storms.

And it is a big day for color and light addicts like Maria and me. I love winter on its own terms, but I miss every day without color and light, it’s time to order firewood and hay for next winter.

We’ve made it past another hard winter. That feels good. Up here, Spring is very sweet.

Just as we mark the Winter Solstice with fire, we mark the Vernal  Equinox with a bonfire out in the pasture.

The donkeys and sheep flee when the fire starts up. The dogs sniff around, staring at the flames, and eventually lie down and sleep. It is beautiful, pastoral and calming.

This was Zinnia’s first real bonfire, and she took it in stride, eventually curling up at our feet, seeking the warmth.

The sun is big news here today.

We are signing up for a big solar panel to invite the sun into our lives and help us bring light and warmth to our home. A small gift to Mother Earth as well, and a gift to us when we pay our monthly electric bill.

I admit this is also an affirmation of our faith in the future, and the hope in our hearts. I am so happy that Jean’s Place is booming, at least for now. Take-out will keep them going.

Everybody likes to appear selfless, but I want to be honest, I will like paying less every month to my electric company too, thanks to solar. It’s up to the bank now, and if they will have us, we’ll dance.

We went out into the pasture around 7:30, it was getting dark. I cooked dinner and Maria brought it out on a tray. She has been gathering wood for the fire for days. I cooked Italian turkey sausage with corn chips, tangerines and some dark chocolate for dessert.

We sat by the fire for two hours, ate our dinner, drank some hard cider.

Zinnia and Fate sniffed around, then curled up on the ground and joined us.  Fate went off to see where the sheep were.

Zinnia stuck her nose into the Pole Barn and came rocketing out, she was not invited in there. Dogs learn quickly on a farm. She goes everywhere with me.

We stayed out until the fire died down and it got cold, as it often does up here at night. We talked about the virus and then moved on. I feel safe up here, I only came near one person all day, and that was Kelsie from Jean’s. I went to get my lunch.

We didn’t get close, we blew kisses to each other from across the room.

Safety is an illusion and I take the virus seriously, but it will not take over my spirit and heart any more than politicians can Something about fires is primal, deeply soothing.

I feel hopeful, especially sitting by that fire for hours with a person I love so much, sipping my hard cider.  I can’t really say why but I feel this will all pass in a few weeks, I will need to be patient and productive. I’m not sure Americans can stand to do this for too many days.

I am not going to tell you or anyone else to be safe. We all have to make our own decisions.

It isn’t my business to do that, to tell other people what to do. A friend sent me a message tonight ending with this: “be safe. Please be safe.” Too much drama for me, I thought. I don’t need someone to beg me to be safe.

Nobody elected me or asked me to do that.

There are scads of people out there eager to remind me to be safe. Just look at the news at any given moment.  I accept my responsibility to myself and others.

This morning, I took my car in to see a mechanic I know well to have the undercarriage treated for rust. We always yak and catch up, he used to live near me.

The door of the garage was locked, and there were signs on the door. It took me a while to get it.  I was asked to put my keys in a black box and leave.  Not only were we not getting to see each other, we were not even going to be in the same building.

He was taking no chances, and making sure I wasn’t taking any either.

Five hours later, the mechanic’s receptionist (she was in there all the time)  called me on my cell phone to say the car was ready.

The keys had been left in the car outside in the parking lot (I was told the hiding place in advance. Mechanics scurred hurriedly in and out of the back door. Nobody was getting near anybody, and there were no niceties, the currency of rural life.

I called on the phone from just outside the door and paid by credit card and then Maria drove me to pick up the car. I found it on the lot, the keys were hidden in the place I knew to look, and I drove home.

I said hello, and wished them all well. Same to you, she said, and we both hung up.

I’ve lived an interesting life, lived in many places, seen many curious and disturbing things. But I don’t ever recall a stranger time in my life than this. Social Isolation is a creation of, Rod Serling, perhaps. This is a dream, and he is producing us.

I bow to Spring, and welcome it with open arms,  and wish all of us freedom and safety and health. Maria and I clinked our glasses of hard cider in a toast to Spring.

Happy Spring to all of you reading this.

This is the season of color and light for me, the Sun and the light and the fairies will lead me – all of us – down the right path. I feel it.