The Coming of Spring
About this time of the year most of us start looking for spring. The garden centers are where it shows up the earliest. My bride and I were in one the other day and I could not keep from buying two tomato plants. Now what in the world am I going to do with those things until the last frost? I replanted them into larger pots and put them in a sunny window, hoping for the best. I will keep you posted as to their fate.
Leon Hale, who has written a column for the Houston papers for over 50 years, worked out a solution. He and a buddy, O.F. Morgan, would load up their pickup truck about this time each year and head south, looking for spring. This column ran for over 20 years and Leon said it was the most popular set of columns he ever wrote. Perhaps looking for spring reveals a deep rooted desire and hope that only spring can solve.
So I pulled on a jacket, warm cap and braved the brisk north wind yesterday and walked around our place, looking for signs of spring.
And I found a few brave little anemones poking their heads above the brown dry grass. Anemones have daisy like blossoms, with a scrawny looking plant and leaves. They bloom white, blue and rich pink. Most bloom white, some blue and very rarely pink. I can’t guess why one plant in the wild would color itself in such a manner. Any way they think spring is here. I sure hope they know what they are doing.
Down in the draw grow a few red bud trees. I ventured into the valley for a look. Sure enough some of the blossoms have swelled and burst into a bright magenta color. It is indeed a welcome sight this time of the year to spot a red bud shining like a beacon of color in the drab cloth of winter. I wondered if the red bud really knew something of the coming season. I trust they do.
The big show off this time of the year is the wild plum. They have burst into full bloom all over our place. Their snow white blossoms attract not only us mortals looking for spring, but also the honey bee, as well as many moths, and wasps. The woods are awash with the heavy fragrance of the blossoms. The French Boutique would do well to copy the smell of the wild plum tree. What a heady feeling the smell brings and bodes well to ushering in the coming season. But is it really true? Does Mr. Plum know something? We hope.
However, I remembered something my old friend, John Steel, once said. “Don’t count on spring until the mesquites bud out.” We have a ancient mesquite tree high on the ridge to the west that has weathered the coming of many springs. Surely this patriarch would know if spring is just around the corner. I made my way to the tree’s domain. There he stood, in his battered beauty totally barren of green. Not a swelled bud was evident. Not even a promise of green to come. That nailed my search for spring to the barn door. Not yet my son. We must wait for Mr. Mesquite to make the announcement of the coming of spring.
Leon Hale, who has written a column for the Houston papers for over 50 years, worked out a solution. He and a buddy, O.F. Morgan, would load up their pickup truck about this time each year and head south, looking for spring. This column ran for over 20 years and Leon said it was the most popular set of columns he ever wrote. Perhaps looking for spring reveals a deep rooted desire and hope that only spring can solve.
So I pulled on a jacket, warm cap and braved the brisk north wind yesterday and walked around our place, looking for signs of spring.
And I found a few brave little anemones poking their heads above the brown dry grass. Anemones have daisy like blossoms, with a scrawny looking plant and leaves. They bloom white, blue and rich pink. Most bloom white, some blue and very rarely pink. I can’t guess why one plant in the wild would color itself in such a manner. Any way they think spring is here. I sure hope they know what they are doing.
Down in the draw grow a few red bud trees. I ventured into the valley for a look. Sure enough some of the blossoms have swelled and burst into a bright magenta color. It is indeed a welcome sight this time of the year to spot a red bud shining like a beacon of color in the drab cloth of winter. I wondered if the red bud really knew something of the coming season. I trust they do.
The big show off this time of the year is the wild plum. They have burst into full bloom all over our place. Their snow white blossoms attract not only us mortals looking for spring, but also the honey bee, as well as many moths, and wasps. The woods are awash with the heavy fragrance of the blossoms. The French Boutique would do well to copy the smell of the wild plum tree. What a heady feeling the smell brings and bodes well to ushering in the coming season. But is it really true? Does Mr. Plum know something? We hope.
However, I remembered something my old friend, John Steel, once said. “Don’t count on spring until the mesquites bud out.” We have a ancient mesquite tree high on the ridge to the west that has weathered the coming of many springs. Surely this patriarch would know if spring is just around the corner. I made my way to the tree’s domain. There he stood, in his battered beauty totally barren of green. Not a swelled bud was evident. Not even a promise of green to come. That nailed my search for spring to the barn door. Not yet my son. We must wait for Mr. Mesquite to make the announcement of the coming of spring.