What I’m Looking Forward to This Spring

There’s something about the first true hint of spring that feels like a quiet promise being kept.

This morning, when I stepped outside with my coffee in hand, the air felt different. Not warm exactly, not yet, but softer. The kind of air that carries possibility instead of stillness. I stood there for a moment longer than usual, letting that gentle shift settle into my bones, and I realized how much I’ve been looking forward to this season without even saying it out loud.

Winter has its own beauty, of course. I always appreciate the slower rhythm, the cozy evenings, and the permission to nest and rest. But by the time February begins to loosen its grip, I start to feel a stirring. I feel it in my thoughts first, with little ideas forming and plans beginning to take shape. Then I feel it in my hands. I want to make things again. Grow things again. Open windows. Clear corners. Start fresh.

Spring always feels like an invitation to begin again.

One of the things I’m most looking forward to this year is the arrival of new baby animals around here. There’s nothing quite like the gentle chaos of springtime on a little homestead. The soft peeping of chicks, the wobbly steps of ducklings, and the way everything feels alive and new always make me pause and smile. I find myself lingering near the brooder boxes, watching those tiny lives unfold with a kind of quiet wonder.

There’s something grounding about caring for baby animals. They don’t know about last season or next season. They simply exist in the moment, growing day by day and responding to warmth and care. When I hold a small, warm chick in my hands, I’m reminded that life continues forward in the most ordinary and miraculous ways. It makes me slow down. It makes me present. It makes me grateful.

I’ve already started planning where everyone will go this spring. I think about which enclosure will be refreshed, what bedding I’ll use, and how I’ll set up their spaces so they feel safe and comfortable. These little preparations are part of the joy for me. I like thinking ahead and imagining the gentle bustle that will soon fill our yard.

And then there’s the garden.

Oh, how I’ve missed putting my hands in the soil.

Every year I tell myself I won’t get quite so excited about planting season, and every year I fail completely. There’s just something about those first packets of seeds and those first trays of seedlings that fills me with hope. I love the planning almost as much as the planting. I enjoy deciding what will go where, what new varieties I might try, what worked well last year, and what I’d like to do differently this time.

This spring feels especially meaningful because I’ll be setting up the greenhouse Brian gave me for my birthday. I still can’t quite believe it’s mine. I’ve already started imagining where it will sit, how the light will fall across the shelves, and what I’ll grow inside first. There’s something deeply satisfying about creating a space dedicated entirely to nurturing growth.

I picture rows of small pots, each holding the promise of something green. Tomatoes stretching upward. Herbs filling the air with scent. Tiny sprouts pushing through soil and reaching for warmth. I know there will be trial and error. There always is. That is part of the process I’ve come to love. Gardening has taught me patience in a way nothing else quite has. It reminds me that growth happens quietly, often beneath the surface long before we see the results.

Setting up the greenhouse feels like planting a seed for the whole season ahead.

And of course, with spring comes the inevitable urge to clean and refresh our home. There’s a particular kind of satisfaction that comes from opening the windows wide and letting fresh air sweep through the rooms. I love that first day when the house shifts from closed-up winter coziness to bright, airy openness. Curtains move gently in the breeze. Sunlight stretches across the floors. Everything feels lighter.

Spring cleaning, for me, isn’t about perfection. It’s about renewal. It’s about taking stock of what we have, clearing what we no longer need, and making space for the life we’re actively living. I find myself moving through the house with a quiet sense of purpose. I wipe down shelves, rearrange small corners, and let go of things that have outlived their usefulness.

There’s something deeply comforting about tending to a home in this way. It reminds me that our spaces reflect our seasons. Just as the earth outside begins to shift and soften, our homes can do the same. A clean countertop, a freshly swept floor, and a small vase of flowers on the table can lift my mood more than I ever expect.

I think that’s what I love most about spring. It encourages gentle change.

It doesn’t arrive all at once. It doesn’t demand perfection. It simply begins, quietly and steadily, until one day I look around and realize everything feels new again.

I’m looking forward to slow mornings in the garden with coffee in hand, checking on seedlings as they stretch toward the sun. I’m looking forward to the soft sounds of new life around us. The rustle of wings, the tiny footsteps of ducklings, and the hum of bees returning. I’m looking forward to evenings when the air stays light just a little bit longer and we can sit outside and feel the day linger.

Most of all, I’m looking forward to the feeling of beginning again.

Spring always reminds me that renewal doesn’t have to be dramatic to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s as simple as opening a window. Planting a seed. Clearing a space. Taking a deep breath of fresh air and allowing yourself to feel hopeful about what’s ahead.

I know there will be busy days and muddy boots. There will be unexpected challenges. There always are. But there will also be moments of quiet beauty, the kind that appear when I’m paying attention. A new shoot pushing through dark soil. A warm breeze through an open door. The soft weight of a baby animal in my hands.

These are the moments I want to hold onto this season.

As spring arrives, I feel ready to welcome it fully, with open windows, open hands, and an open heart.

~ Hearthblossom