In addition to the sights and sounds of springtime, I guess I should include the nice aromas that are also a part of this lovely season. Flowers are my favorites during springtime, and to me, spring just isn’t spring if the air isn’t punctuated with those air perfuming honeysuckles and brightly colored roses … Umm, umm, umm, what delicious fragrances they emit.
When it comes to the fields and meadows, southwestern Arkansas is mostly pine and the only things they produce are needles and cones with a fragrance nowhere near that of a dainty rose. They are not nearly as beautiful as a rose either, but they are not completely unsightly. They will do. Pines are green all year, so during the spring, there’s not much new about them. They simply retain their same composure. Actually, there aren’t many trees that have buds that blossom into full blooms like apple and cherry trees, which as a child, I never saw.
My springtime world still had my favorite daffodils. I like those pretty, yellow flowers. Not only are they a beautiful sight for the eyes but they are so independent. They grow on their own without any care or personal attention. They only need the rain from heaven to nourish their bodies. Each spring, I could, without fail, expect the ditches along the roadside to be ablaze with yellow trumpet daffodils … and they always were.
While I picked the daffodils that grew “wild” along the road, I also visited the florist just up the road. Our neighbor, Mrs. Brown, appeared to compete with Mother Nature in growing her blossoms. She obviously loved flowers and no doubt planted every variety that would grow in Arkansas soil. The love of her life was her own nursery with rows and rows and rows of the prettiest petals you’ve ever seen. I would follow her as she trumped up and down the rows, dutifully clipping stem after stem and politely handing them to me. My little beady eyes feasted on the labors of her love and the beauty that her hands had nurtured to fruition.
Spring wouldn’t be spring either without that fuzzy green stuff that feels like a thick cushion underneath your feet. There’s just something about the soft, green grass of spring that drapes the hills and plains of the countryside If you’ve never walked on nature’s soothing floor, you’ve missed half of your life. I loved for my toes to be tickled by this delicate patch of green, and except for the road, green “fuzz” was just about everywhere I walked. There’s no feeling quite like walking barefoot across the earth that has laid out the “red” carpet just for your little bony feet.
Then, last but not least, at the beginning of spring, my favorite little feathery creatures paid me their annual visit. They helped make the season complete. I didn’t always see them, but they’d sit on vines and on tree branches and just chirp their merry hearts out. Then, when they got tired of hanging out in that tree, they’d fly through the air like little feather airplanes … darting to their next bush or limb. The gift of hearing is so precious, and there is no sweeter sound than birdsongs in springtime.
There is something serendipitous about living in rural America. Everything about a country spring is almost too good to be true. Of course spring comes to the city too, but this season is much more pronounced in the outlying areas. But you would have to live “there” to really appreciate the beauty and joy that springtime brings.
Photo by Fotolia/chris2766