A new season tosses winter aside

Spring is a sassy flirt and she revels in variety whether we humans like it or not. After a long, cold winter human hearts begin to yearn for green, bloom, sweet breezes and blue skies.

Growing up in the Appalachians I was aware of winter’s darkness. Whether one lived up a holler, in a narrow valley or even perched on either Pine or Black Mountain, the days were always shorter than days in flat country. The sun fell behind our magnificent mountains earlier and rose later. It was a fact of life that you didn’t even think about much unless you traveled beyond the reach of those sheltering hills.

To compensate us I guess, Mother Nature would spread great swaths of colorful bloom all across the face of the spring mountains.

First, there was Sarvice bloom looking as if snow had sprinkled itself across the face of the craggy hills. Then redbud soon followed, and with its red bloom you could almost feel the warmth of spring still hiding in the cliffs, caves and gullies carved deep in our venerable hills.

There was also an escapee from the yards and orchards from down below. The crabapple, or a naturalized form of it, would follow the redbud. These fooler trees never bore decent fruit and were pretty stumpy and frail. It was almost as if they were being punished for going into the wild where they did not belong.

Spring wasn’t through; the Easter story illustrated in the dogwood bloom was next to appear. I can remember my mother climbing higher on our mountain to cut branches of dogwood to arrange in tall vases for our church.

This was the only time of the year when you could actually tell where dogwood was growing. They are shelter trees and hover under the protecting growth of deciduous trees and even some evergreens, perhaps a sign of the heavenly protection we seek for solace and promise.

As if on cue, dogwood is followed by a general greening spreading rampant across every inch of brown mountains.

First it is just a light hint and then, especially after a rain. You would walk out and find a green wonderland from the base to the very top of the hills and crags surrounding us. Without our noticing, spring had danced herself away to hide for another year.

The trees, now all dressed for summer, captured moisture, slowed winds and provided shade for the hundreds of tender wildflowers now willing to push through for a dose of sunshine and fresh air.

I miss the spring display of the Appalachians with all its promise. I know fall is the preferred season for tourists, but fall portends winter on its heels. I much prefer spring with her promise of gardens, flowers, and a summer sun warming home and path.

Down here in flat country it seems too many times the winds don’t sprinkle early bloom as much as they hurl and smash all in their path to smithereens. It seems impossible, but it has been fifty years since the tornado breakout that brought such havoc to our state and county. Last week’s breakout thankfully missed us this time, but spring does warn us of how vulnerable we are. Along with precious early warmth and bloom, we have to stay on guard about troubled winds.