Shortly after I started the Blind Pig & The Acorn back in 2008, I asked a few local folks what they remembered from the Springs of their childhood days.
- listening for the Spring birds
- his father always planted potatoes on Good Friday
- when its warm enough to see barefoot kids you know its spring
Ailene Tanner said
- when the bloodroot blooms (the white flowers above are bloodroot blooming behind my house)
- when the Sarvis tree blooms
- her mother always planted green beans on Good Friday
Mary Alice McCoy said
- early blooming flowers
- her mother said anything you plant on the first day of spring will live
- her mother aired out all the quilts, mattresses, and pillows each spring
Spring always brings thoughts of new birth and starting over. But spring also reminds me of what went before, of the past.
Each spring as I drive the roads around my mountain home I see daffodils and yellow bells blooming where there are no houses, no buildings, just woods and grass.
I know the flowers are from old home places. Each spring as I look for them, I wonder who planted them? Was their life harder than mine? Happier than mine?
I like to think a mother like me planted them to add beauty to her life, or maybe it was a grandmother or grandfather who planted them, or even a husband trying to prove to his wife things would get better.
Spring is a new beginning, a new start. I just know the ones that planted the flowers, the ones that went before, have something to teach us if we will but listen.