Making Spring Time . . . .

Artichokes, red strawberries, sun drenched dirt, worms, and Meadowlark song are my flavors of Spring.  Every time I hear the first Meadowlark’s song, it takes me back to a damp dirt driveway, a big mud puddle and walking to the bus stop on a Spring morning.  It’s amazing how every year that same bird song will take me straight back to when I was 8, 9, or maybe 10 years old.  Those familiar new Earth meadow smells, the same scenery in my mind’s eye, and once again I can be that same little girl catching a ride to elementary school.

I love making spring time, and spent the entire weekend with fresh dirt up to my elbows:

Planting, planting and more planting.  How does my garden grow?  With kale, strawberries, carrots, snap peas, radishes, and lettuce.  All those little sproutlings are making me feel quite proud, but I always count on my dogs to keep me humble.  Gardening with four Cairn Terriers can be an exasperating experience.  I’ve never met dogs who love to garden as much as I do.

This morning, I prepared some hanging baskets filled with fragrant moist soil and compost.  I ran off to the feed store to buy some Nasturtium seeds to go with the Morning Glories and Forget-Me-Nots:  bright blue with bits of gold.  My heart was humming with the thought of how beautiful the pots will be in several weeks!  But, alas, when I returned (about 20 minutes later), here’s the mess I found on my deck.

While I was away, Pixie spent some time excavating the pots I had just filled.

The little bearded beast was covered in fresh soil, and thought I would never notice!   And for the one who is not helping with the digging, he is waiting quite impatiently (and screaming) to be sprayed with the hose.  Bow loves water, and spends about 6 hours a day patrolling his little pond.  I bought him some new feeder fish to keep him busy over the summer months.

Bow spends most of the day fishing from his custom-sized Cairn Terrier dock.

After a weekend of spring sunshine, it doesn’t take much to make my heart full with happiness.  I started this blog to remind myself of the little things in my life that make me happy:  knitting, dogs, like-minded friends, and simplicity.  I’ve always written a journal, and was only looking to use the blogging as a way to record some of my simple thoughts. But. . .what I didn’t expect was that the readers of my little blog would  provide me with happiness-filled surprises along the way.  This morning, I was greeted by a note from a friend of my father’s.  It was a response to the Smile Maker’s post, but I have to share it below because of the bright, blazing memories it conjured in my heart — just like the first Meadlowlark’s Spring Song.

Arkansas Smile Report 5/6/12 – Aubreyenoch

“I open the mailbox and there is a letter from Frank. (smile)
It is a manila envelope that I take back to the front porch.
The dogs all gather around. They like it when I set on the porch.
I pet each one under the chin.
“Wag your tail if you’re happy”, I tell them.
They are all happy. (smile)
In the envelope is a greeting card with a beautiful picture. (smile)
In the picture is a cabinet made of old wood
with things found on the shelves
along with a nice black hen and a basket of eggs. (smile)
I read the handwriting inside the card and at the bottom
I see it’s from H.
Wow little H. (smile)
I see a little bare foot girl in a sleeveless dress
with a little brother in bibbed overalls with no shirt or shoes
and a big sister with her front teeth missing.
It was a vision from a long time ago when you lived across the bridge at Hans’ place. I lived in the little house up the hill.
I read the writing again and the sanity of it all is healing and healthful. (smile)
Frank and I write back and forth.
I think we help each other deal with the insanity of our time.
He doesn’t do computers or cell phones.
So we use envelopes with stamps.
I printed off the bird feeders post and the one about the drinking gourd that I’ll send him in my next letter.
He’ll be smiling then.”

Please tell me what Making Spring Time means to you . . . .