Let’s Talk! – Purple Crocus Spring

The moment I discovered this prompt in my friend Tyrean Martinson’s book, – A Pocket-Sized Jumble of Writing of 500+ Prompts – I was transported into our backyard one spring afternoon this year. I was watering our beds during an unusually dry period, and out of the corner of my eyes I glimpsed something purple. It was a bunch of crocuses that I had never planted anywhere in that area. Besides, the entire backyard was still barren. No buds in the trees, just a few on my rhododendron, the raised bed seeded with hope and vegetables. What a neat surprise! My first glimpse of spring this year was definitely purple crocuses (or is it croci?!)! What flowers were it for you?

And why did this bunch of purple crocuses stick in my mind? Because that was when I knew that spring had really arrived!

Isn’t it always the same with firsts? That we remember that one impression and that, even though there might be so many similar of the same kind, none will ever rival this one? In this case because I hadn’t even planted any bulbs. Not in that place or anywhere near ever.

What is it with first impressions, be they nice or not?

I remember my first encounters with different kinds of food items (yeah, I hear you sigh, “food, again!”). I wasn’t particularly fond of stuffed bell peppers as a child. But when I was about nine or ten, my family vacationed on the North Sea island of Sylt. One Sunday we went out for lunch in the city of Westerland, and for whatever reason, I ordered stuffed bell peppers. To this day, I remember the name of the restaurant, its atmosphere, where we sat, and that – oh bliss! – I fell in love with that dish. It was not the first impression, but the first time I really liked it – and it stuck!

I try to remember firsts that I didn’t like. Have you tried this before? Thinking of Brussel sprouts (yep, I’m that girl who never cooks those), it’s one failed childhood attempt at eating and liking them at our family’s dining table. The experience was repetitive; the first encounter stands out. When I come up with raw oysters, though, it is different. I encountered them at age 26 for the very first time. They tasted to me as one very famous German author, Johannes Mario Simmel, described in one of his books, like “fish-flavored snot.” To be honest, I’m fond neither of the texture nor of the aftertaste. This first impression from a street stand in Hamburg, Germany, stuck with me. Funny enough, the few other times I gave them a try, again, were equally memorable. Because they were used in different dishes in different places on different occasions. So, every single time I tried oysters was an occasion, an experience by itself, therefore memorable.

I think that what registers with us are first impressions. And if they are not contradicted by any other experience, the first one will remain what we remember. I won’t forget that 2024 was the first year my lilac AND my rhododendron blossomed like crazy. I will remember the date, the place, and the topic of the first newspaper article I ever had published. I will remember my 18th birthday because I performed a kunstlied I had composed myself before an audience; other birthdays were less memorable. I will remember the first opera I ever saw, the first musical, my first time on stage and what it felt like.

Firsts are like purple crocus springs. They jump at us without a warning. They address all our senses as if they had a purpose. Maybe they do. Maybe they are meant to shape us. But this year’s purple crocus spring was there for another reason. To surprise me and lend an otherwise very gray day a beam of joy.