Springtime

Spring is Sprung,
The Grass is Ris.
I wonder where
The Flowers is.

So goes one of the two poems that I actually committed to memory in school. What can I say, poetry was never my thing. It’s still not – I much prefer the system and order that goes with the grammatical rules that I understand. Through good fortune, I happened across something in about the 5th grade that solved all of my poetry needs through high school.

Be that as it may, it is the case here in Catawba County. While we were away, much winter happened. Major snowstorms, the likes of which haven’t been seen for years, dumped massive amounts of snow – well, massive amounts for North Carolina. One would think that the economy of bread and milk producers, to say nothing of grocery stores and movie rentals, will show first quarter improvements based upon the people making the mad rush to the store at the last minute.

If the forecasters are to be believed, much winter is yet to come despite the fact that the temperatures over the weekend topped 60F every day. Monday was warm and rainy, today is foggy and the weather channel isn’t optimistic about the rest of the week, predicting a high of only 38F for Thursday and another chance of snow over the weekend.

If you look, though, the signs are there that life is returning. The darkness comes noticeably later and recedes earlier than it did just a few weeks ago. The birds, while still grateful when the feeders are restocked, seem to be thinking about nesting and welcoming the summer folk back to town.  Stocking caps are replaced with ball caps and hoodies have taken the place of hollowfill coats.

Most importantly, though, the spring bulbs are starting to come back.

If there was ever an act of faith, it’s that of putting those misshapen globs of organic matter into the ground about Thanksgiving and anticipating that they’ll come out and bloom in the spring, not only this year but for future years as well.

About 4 years ago, lots of bulbs went into the yard. Somewhere upwards of 4,000 of them. The seem to do well, and each year there’s a splash of springtime that erupts suddenly, starting with the daffodils (my favorites) with their yellow megaphones heralding the arrival of spring, followed by the bottle-brush like hyacinths and tulips that seem to use every one of the 64 crayons in the big box for their color.  It's a glorious show for about a week, until the symphony starts to fall apart, the different players moving in different time signatures.

When they start to peek through the ground this time of year, I am an expectant parent, worried that a late snow or freeze will catch them and eliminate the possibilities for the year, the effort requiring another 12 months of waiting for an attempt.  There are no "do overs" in this.

I’m not sure what all the point is of this today; maybe it’s just musing on the optimism of springtime. After a long, dark winter that seems to have left snow on the ground forever -- our last spot in the yard as of yesterday was on the north side of the house in the shade, and is about the size of a turkey platter – it’s hard not to feel the excitement of the little green things poking through the ground, preparing for their annual invasion.

But if you are observant, you can see signs of it everywhere.

Like our neighbor's Christmas tree, the last one of the season, which finally made it to the curb yesterday.