Spring is Springing

Spring is here in North Georgia, brimming with promise. The daffodils have come and gone and there is new growth on the hydrangeas. The yellowwood tree gets fuller and greener every day. The robins have been here for a while and the goldfinches have finally descended on our lawn.

The rains have been relentless this spring. Just when things are drying out a little, we get another round. I’ve not been able to cut my whole yard yet this year because the edges are too soggy. But summer will be here soon enough and then I’ll be wishing for some rain.

Spring brings with it hope, and magic, I think. The magic of new beginnings. The magic of new growth. The magic of sunshine and new flowers after the rain.

And possibilities. I can plant all the things I want and the possibility of a beautiful garden is very real. Even though my garden tanked last year, there is still hope for this new spring to provide me with a fresh start. Yet another chance.

Even at sixty-six, I still love playing in the dirt. I love being outside. I love trees and flowers. I love wildflowers growing in pastures and along the roadsides. I’m a sucker for a wildflower bouquet.

When I was a kid, the crocuses came up through the snow in the Spring. I would purposely walk past Mr. Godfrey’s house on my way to school just to see them. They lined the sidewalk going up to his house and were the very first signs of Spring each year.

When I was in college, we would hike out to the edge of the woods to find lady slippers, trillium, and fiddle head ferns. Springtime was glorious in the mountains.

When I was in the Navy stationed in Hawaii, just being outside was a delight for the senses. Just about anywhere you went, the scent of flowers kept you company.

I’ve been forty-two years here in Georgia now. I’ve grown to love the Spring here. The daffodils, the dogwoods, the red buds and Bradford Pear trees. The blue-eyed grass and the bluets. The dainty violets.

If ever there was a season for hope, this is it.