Spring

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Because of all the recent rain, my backyard is a bit overgrown. It’s in need of a mow, has wildflowers springing up. It looks a bit wild at the moment.

I sat on my back steps Sunday and admired it. The overgrowth and out of control shrubs made for beautiful green chaos. My dog rolled in the clover and romped through it chasing her ball. I enjoyed taking the time to just be.

I love plants and growing things. My Paw always had a garden. We would shell peas and beans until our fingers were raw. We’d put up squash, can tomatoes, and at the end of the day, gather ‘round a watermelon on the picnic table. If you’re a watermelon lover, and Lord knows I am, there is something about that first sweet bite. The juice on your tongue, and it running down your chin. There are few things that compare. We kids would be covered in sticky by the time we were done. My grandmother wouldn’t let us near the house until we were hosed down. Seed spitting competitions would ensue.

I miss those springs and summers of my childhood. My skin got darker as my hair got lighter. We rode bicycles til our legs would go no further.

We lived in a tiny community called Weathersby. The pasture that surrounded our house on three sides was green and lush because of the creek that ran through it. I spent those summers up to my knees in water in the small creek and every article of clothing I owned had grass stains. I loved to take off running through the pasture and eat the wild muscadines that grew along the water. I ran wild through the green and my heart was free.

I miss those summers of my youth when the world seemed smaller, and the crazy stuff you hear happening in your own backyard was in far off places like New York and Chicago.

I can already feel the itch, the want to get my hands in some soil. I bought some potting soil and started some seeds Sunday. It’s later than I normally like to start, but death and illness have been with us constantly these last months.

It felt refreshing to get the soil in my hands on Sunday. The cool earth speaks to me on another level. My mother says I get it from my Aunt Hazel. Last year, I found some pitiful looking petunias at the Wal-Mart garden center. They were marked down in their sad state. I came home with all three flats of them. As I unloaded them, I just knew Tony was going to kill me. He walked out onto the porch, looked them over, and said I’d have them good as new in no time. He’s a gem, that one. I potted them up and ended up giving some away after they were looking better.

My snowball trees are showing out. The balls are still green but are bountiful. My banana shrubs are blooming and fragrant. I can’t wait for my little herb seeds to poke through the soil and reach for the sun. I’m waiting for the morning glories to weave themselves among the shrubs and begin their trek around my yard. I get giddy when I think of getting petunias for my porch. If this year is like last, I’ll have jars with clipplings lined on my porch sprouting roots. I want to try my hand at a few new things.

Plants are food, breath, and life. They are like us in many ways. They need lots of water and sunshine and love and care. I’ve been neglecting my blog. I’ve been neglecting life. Spring is a welcome change.