Spring Reading Slump

Every spring, I betray books for gardening.

This isn’t intentional. I stash novels around the house. My TBR is everywhere. Books are beside me on the couch. Stacked next to my favorite reading chair. Then I notice a weed, or lose forty-five minutes repotting seedlings, or hunt for vegetable-murdering slugs like a demented woodland creature.

Here’s the thing. When you’re a gardener, Spring is fundamentally incompatible with indoor concentration. The light changes and the air smells alive. Entire afternoons disappear because you needed to “check on the peas.” Side note, mine are looking fab!

Unfortunately, the garden is only partly responsible for my current reading slump. I also haven’t loved a book in a while.

Oh, I’ve read several perfectly competent novels. Some were well written, and some had interesting premises. But I finished them with the literary equivalent of a polite nod.

“Nice,” I think, while immediately forgetting the character’s names.

This kind of reading slump feeds itself. After three mediocre books in a row, I start wondering if I’ve lost the ability to enjoy reading. Perhaps my attention span has composted. Or maybe my Spring-addled brain only accepts information delivered through seed catalogs.

But maybe this annual reading slump is less about books and more about rhythm. For me, Winter is built for reading. Spring entices me elsewhere.

Eventually the right book will appear, right? Some strange little novel will slip through the cracks, leaving me awake far too late muttering, “Just one more chapter.”

Until then, the books will wait. The garden, unfortunately, will not.

The header photo is a composite image. Base image by Arno Smit on Unsplash