Episode 19: Why You Can’t Find Spring (And where it’s actually hiding)

It’s never been lost. It’s been quiet, and there all along.

Episode Summary: When a heavy late-winter snow split a juniper tree in Samantha’s yard, it didn't just change the view from her laundry room door—it revealed a hidden entanglement that had been there all along. In this episode, we explore the "narrowing" effect of winter and the frustration of waiting for a season that feels late.

Through the lens of a lost wedding diamond found in the most unlikely place, Samantha reflects on the paradox of finding: why do the things we search for most desperately only appear when we finally stop the hunt? Whether you’re buried under sixteen inches of snow or just feeling "weighed down and Vitamin D deprived," this episode is an invitation to step to the doorway—not as an exit, but as an entrance.

In this episode, we’re talking about:

How a split tree revealed a hidden invasive vine (and a deeper view of the yard).

Why we can't find the things we obsessively search for.

The "shimmer" that lives inside the winter grit.

Thanks for listening!

February can feel exhausting. The days are slowly getting longer, but energy still feels low.

In this reflective winter episode, I explore how cold weather doesn’t necessarily drain us — it simply reduces our range. Like an electric car in winter, we may travel the same roads… just not as far on a single charge.

After a fresh snowfall in my backyard, an unexpected female Eastern Towhee reminded me that even when life looks frozen, it is still moving underneath.

This episode explores:

Late winter fatigue and seasonal energy shifts

The quiet accumulation of daylight in February

The subnivian layer — life beneath the snow

Battery metaphors, reduced range, and rest

Why hibernation isn’t weakness — it’s strategy

Noticing what still functions

If you’re feeling low-power this winter, this episode is an invitation to conserve, recharge, and trust the slow return of light.

Have you ever watched a loading screen and felt your pulse pick up just a little? The spinning wheel. The buffering bar. That quiet instruction: Please don’t close this window.

We’re uncomfortable when we can’t see progress. We want confirmation. A percentage. A sign that the wait means something.

Late winter feels like that.

This week’s episode explores that gap — the space between what’s happening and what’s visible. The quiet beginnings that don’t announce themselves. The kind of progress that offers no confirmation screen, no percentage bar, no green checkmark.

Spring doesn’t arrive all at once.It loads slowly.And so do we.

You can’t recognize almost-spring unless you’ve lived the whole way here. Through the dim light, the long nights, the repetition of cold mornings.

The accumulated weight of it. The sequence. The repetition.

Only then can you recognize what almost-spring really means.

Red-winged blackbird recording courtesy of: Stanislas Wroza, XC1021377. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/1021377.

License: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0