Most things bring me in thought and memory to my grandparents house. If your a regular reader, you are familiar with this and my other tales of being at home with them. The smell in the air yesterday brought me to there, to their yard... to the cow pastures that surrounded their home and the pond that brought promise of sounds and sights of spring.
I remember early spring wandering slowly around their pond, for the pond was my safe haven from the world. I couldn't play in it through the winter, but come early spring I could at least assess what was happening within it's waters. Peering inside the still cold waters I looked for signs of life, spotting frog egg masses with tiny black dots inside each bulbous form yearning to grow and wiggle inside. Around the wet edges of spring I would spot the beginning of green and take in the tweee tweee sound of the red winged blackbirds.
My grandmother and I would take walks down their road come spring, collecting pussy willows. How I would love to come across pussy willlows and get lost in the whimsical memories they would prevoke. They are so hard to find these days... Red wings in pussy willlows... perhaps a painting?
Red winged blackbirds with their distinct call, only start singing in spring. Not second before, but precisely as it begins. My grandmother told me that at a young age, and I have gauged the season by those words ever since. I thought I spotted a red wing the other day in some reeds passing by the swamp I love... but I couldn't be sure. I haven't heard them yet, but I can already imagine the joy my heart will experience as the first twwweeeee of their chattery voices fills the air and space between my ears.
50 degree days for us mean walks to the general store, sandwiches on their porch, and the soaking in of warm sunshine. Seems like forever since I felt it (literally)... and I thought I heard my freckles give a little cheer as they too soaked up the warm rays. Sunshine is medicine in my book, the best medicine their is.