Just as you think spring has arrived, there is serious snowfall and biting cold wind. A mix of hope and despair.
Such as it is, both work, whether it is for the animals, weather, or life in general. The desperate hunt for sustenance post-winter sleep, or the unpredictability of knowing whether freshly planted trees are going to survive the surprising and vicious frosts.
March has seen highs and lows that I am struggling to describe.
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From the dizzying hope of positive interviews, to endless waiting on decisions, and unrelenting rejection and unsuccessful applications. Good friends are asking me if I am ok, whether I have any news, but I am purposefully keeping myself isolated as much as possible so that I can avoid the spread of misery.
"I just sobbed over a bottle of olive oil that fell out of the cupboard and smashed all over the kitchen floor. Not sure that it is anything to do with the actual oil."
"I think Boško would be contacting you if he knew how. Yesterday, I was lying in the garden crying. He now knows I am not really functioning."
"I can’t take it any more. I don’t know how to go on."
There is an endless stream of spiralling consciousness hitting my wonderful best friend. Trying to explain and make sense of how I feel to concerned friends and loved ones is hard. Terror, frustration, helplessness, the feeling that time, hope, and money is running out.
The kaleidoscopic darkness that has overwhelmed me has been hard to describe, but it suddenly hit me between impossible breaths as I collapsed in the kitchen garden. Let me try to explain.
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This month we have seen and heard an invasion of woodpeckers, which are enjoying the soft fragile wood of old dying trees. Tap, tappity tap. They are picking off the bark to explore the tasty possibilities underneath, and exposing the raw red flesh of the branch.
That is exactly how I feel.
Each rejection, negative thought, complaint, obstacle or failure is a blow against my exposed nerves. There is no protective barrier to prevent damage. It hurts. The question of how long I can withstand the emotional and intellectual assault is hard to answer.
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"Have you found any holes in your facade?" asked a neighbour. He was standing above us, at the edge of the dry stone wall, clutching a fistful of fresh wild asparagus. “The other morning I was sitting on my terrace having coffee, and I heard Pero Djetlić tapping at something down here.”
“No, I haven’t seen any holes, although last year we lost some of the foam around the old front door. Perhaps he was pecking at the old walnut tree?”
“Oh you are lucky then, the guy over there, and the other one near the main road have both had to fill in lots of holes. They have never seen so many woodpeckers flying around as this year.”
As mentioned before, I have really enjoyed feeding the birds this year. Turns out that these headbanging hole-makers have had a bumper year of encouragement and taken up residence in our old trees. Boško idly mentioned this to cousin Jure and Boško was urgently told not to tell anyone that I might be the cause of the uptick in damaged property.
Years ago, my friend made a prediction that I would be chased out of the village by angry people with pitchforks, but I never thought it would be because of woodpeckers.
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Perhaps this is just Ožujak.
Just when spring appears to have arrived, the snow returns. Just when hope starts to take root, another rejection lands. One moment I am lying in the garden wondering how much more disappointment I can absorb, the next I am discussing a possible woodpecker crime wave with a neighbour carrying wild asparagus.
Hope and despair. Frost and blossom. Woodpeckers and job applications.
A lying month, if ever there was one.
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