The Magic of March - New Beginnings

It's a grey and raw March day here in Salem. The sky hasn't fully decided whether it wants to rain, snow, or simply pelt us with little ice pellets, so it seems to have decided to do all three at once. That's Mother Nature's prerogative - for decades past, March was like this. Winter fighting to hang on just a little bit longer, and Spring trying to push Winter out and away, so we could get on with the business of new growth. Despite today's wintry weather, this coming Sunday, we'll set the clocks ahead and thus receive more daylight, and two weeks from today, we'll celebrate the vernal or spring equinox, officially putting Winter in its place (even if it tries desperately to stick around a little longer than that even).

Winter's dying gasps aside, March has, in just the few short days of its existence, already been a significantly transformative month for me both on a personal and on a professional level. As you all know, spring is the time of new beginnings, new growth, and tending to the seeds we planted around Imbolc in order to ensure a bountiful harvest later in the year. For many of you, those seeds were likely literal. I remember my father planting seedling vegetables in February each year. He would spend hours in the basement setting up grow lamps and tiny, compostable seedling cups that would eventually grow into tomatoes, bean plants, squash, and more. In the spring, he'd turn the earth in his garden and plant everything that had been sprouting in the cellar, along with seeds that didn't need as much lead time for full growth. So I have no doubt that some, maybe many, among you are doing something similar as you plan your gardens this year.

I do not possess a gardener's gene, but I definitely planted my own personal, metaphorical seeds at the beginning of February, and within the first full week of that month, a seedling sprouted. If you follow us on social media, you've probably seen my recent announcement that The Sea Wych Salem is moving from One Derby Square later this month. I'll do another, shorter post on that next week, but that was the first seedling to sprout. Naturally, we're now in the throes of getting ready to have that seedling firmly planted at the beginning of spring.

At the end of February, another seedling sprouted. I had my one year post-op exam. I can't believe that it's only and yet already been a year. That exam went swimmingly and when I left there on the second-to-last-day of February, I looked at my fiancé as we were driving away and said, "This is it. The close of that chapter..." I paused there as I thought of all that's transpired since January 2025, and corrected myself, "No. Not chapter. Novel. The end of this entire novel in the series that is my life." He understood.

I have previously written that if the last year of my life were a tarot card, it would have been The Tower, but what comes after The Tower? The Star. The Star is all about renewal, hope, and possibility. I am not just feeling this as it relates to The Sea Wych, but also in my personal life and at the seashore. I have fostered a deepening connectedness to the earth and ocean, wind and tides in the last year especially, and if you stand (or sit) in stillness, slow your breathing, and look around carefully, you'll feel the thumping of the earth's heartbeat too. It's growing a little faster with each day as, layer by layer, the snow percolates down to our water tables, the ice in the harbour breaks up, and the sap rises in the maples.

Spring seas are growing nigh and I cannot wait to get down to my space once more (when the snow has melted enough to be passable), turn my attention to what the water sounds like, how the wind feels, and the stirring of life beneath the mud at the tide line, celebrating these literal and figurative new beginnings of spring.

What seeds have you planted that are starting to stir or sprout? What new beginnings are you looking forward to? Let us know in the comments!