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The Praises of Spring (Two weeks early of course!)
Savior crucified after
Pilate washed his hands.
Resurrection of the lamb.
I am filled with joy & gratitude.
Growth, and the promise of life everlasting!
(This is my first attempt at an acrostic poem.)
Hydrangea. Last year we had a very hard frost after spring began, and then later the drought. I had one bloom on my bush, so this year I am going to be vigilant about wrapping it if there are any hard frosts which come. (I am going to St. Petersburg, Florida on March 26th . . . so I hope nothing occurs while I am gone. Do you think it would be okay to wrap the bush in a sheet for a week?)
Iris. My Irises did not bloom either, and I feel that the drought affected them also. I pray that we continue to get rain regularly.
Camillia. She is profuse with blooms . . . and has been blooming since the weekend before we got our snow!
Moneyplant. This is a bienniel, and will actually bloom this year. I love their deep purple flowers. My maternal grandmother used their seed stalks in a vase in the fall and winter. They are so beautiful, and also have several other names including silver dollar plant, honesty, or Judas' penny.
Forsythia/Yellowbells. This is my promise bush . . . I can rely on it to tell me that spring is on her way!
Miss Violet's very first bloom. She is sitting in a window where she can catch the morning sun.
Hyacinth. My eldest son gave me this last Mother's Day. It was pink. Will it eventually turn? I guess we will have to wait and see.
Tiger Lilies. I transplanted a couple of the ones located by my backdoor. They are lovely, but their beauty is fleeting . . . only lasting for a day.
Sedum. This plant is also reliable . . . giving something year round. I love to snip the dried flower stalks, and bring in for the winter.
Columbine. I bought these seeds from a gift shop in the airport years ago when I visited Denver, Colorado for a social work conference.
Phlox. Their heady fragrance is absolutely to die for.
Daffodils. I have seen scads of them in bloom, but I live at the foot of Baker's Mountain (the tallest peak in Catawba County,) so I will have late blooming narcissium. I love to put them in a special crystal vase in a sunny window . . . once they bloom. (Maybe I will be blessed with a special Easter arrangement!)
Here I am in March 2008 . . . a mother & a grandmother remembering my mother & my grandmothers on this morning. I learned to love flowers from these sturdy women who worked diligently, raised large families of children, suffered many hardships and tragedies, and loved men who eventually found their primary adoration in the bottle. Nevermind that husbands were not always kind & loving, children were not always obedient & praiseworthy, life was not always steady & predictable. These strong women could nurture their plantings, and could always wait in eager anticipation of a glorious outcome . . . breathtakingly beautiful, the blooms & blossoms show with all their splendor.
My maternal grandmother, whose ancestors came mainly from the rugged hills of the Black Forest in Germany, and from Switzerland, loved pansies . . . their little velvety splotched faces in royal colors always brightened her porch. I remember that she hollowed a tree stump out in her yard, and even planted a patch of them in the middle of it. . .a rustic flower pot that one does not have to worry that the winds may upset it from its perch. I remember their little pansy heads bobbing in the mountain breeze in joyous approval of their earthen nest. To gently touch them was like touching a piece of velvet . . . more fragile, so it must be done just so-so . . . easy now . . came a loving warning.
She loved the birds also . . . and always got excited at the sight of a cardinal. She passed her excitement down to my mother, and she passed it on to me. My mama shooed away the blue jay, giving the cardinal and snowbirds preference to her cold biscuit crumbs. In years later, when I was an adult, she gave my sister a cardinal figurine, and a blue jay to me. I hung my head in shame, for I have always been the one with a hot temper, although I have prayed forgiveness, and have struggled to tone down in my older years. After my mother's death, I shared this as the only time my mother had really done something hurtful to me. My cousin quickly answered, "Don't you know that the blue jay is very protective over its young?" "Oh . . . I hadn't thought of that, " I answered, as I considered the death of my first son at the age of two, and how many years it took me to step back, and have faith that God would not allow tragedy to happen to the double portion . . . two more sons . . . again. Then I felt a spiritual connection to my sweet angel mama who always knew me best.
My paternal grandmother's ancestors were from Ireland. She loved her old fashioned irises . . . pale lavender in color, and the delicate fragrance, and also roses. She wrote a poem for me one time entitled, "God is in a Rose Garden More Than Anywhere I Know." In it she compared the buds to newborns, and the older blooms releasing their petals as the elderly. It was so beautiful, and I carried it for most of my childhood, until it was destroyed from wear. I wish I still had it . . . I remember her spidery handwriting, and her unique hand in spelling . . . as she gave up school at a young age, to a more noble calling to farmwork, and later marriage & childrearing.
My mother and grandmothers have passed on to heaven. As I work in my yard, I imagine them watching me from above. Whispering among themselves, the welling up of pride in their hearts, that I place utmost value in what each of them passed down through the generations by teaching me not necessarily by words, but by example . . .
The best thing to release stress is the activity of gardening.
To dig and run our bare fingers through the soil. The warmth from the morning sun wisping through the dappled shade, and warming the soil, and the damp cool soil contrasting as we go a little deeper down into the rich soil.
The seed surrenders all that it has, and all that it is to the soil and elements. We gain our strength as we imagine this capsule of life as it soaks up all the ground has to offer. I compare this act of nature to our surrender to God as we go through a crisis . . . He has provided all that He requires for us to bloom, and realize our purpose.
At the end of the day after toiling in the soil . . . moving, bending, walking, carrying, digging . . . it is so rewarding to peel off sweaty dirty clothes, and soak in a tub of water, with a cake of sweet scented soap, and look out the door at all of the hard work we have accomplished . . . the payoff is so lasting and rewarding. We are blessed again and again!
Walking through the garden in the early morning with a cup of coffee, and taking inventory of who has bloomed to reveal their glory overnight is very rewarding. The birds in their morning revelry provide the background music as we step purposefully about the land . . . shouting out the promise of beauty from decay & death . . . something to set the sights upon . . . to ease the journey . . . do you see just beyond the next ridge? Three staunch women await with open arms, and eager anticipation. I step carefully, and set my sights beyond.
Last edited: Tue Apr 27, 2010 8:41 am
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Your foremothers taught you well, bless them. Lovely story.
I love how spring is always so faithful to offer a fresh start. A brand new season with no mistakes in it yet.
I do love to walk about my yard in the morning time to see if anything sprung up over night,Just waiting for Spring.
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