Well, spring has come to the country. I never knew the true meaning of the word fresh until now. The air here smells of dirt, faint flowers, and dampness. I have all the windows open to get as much into my stuffy, woodsmoky house as possible. The wind is so alive. It rushes around the trees, and roars down the hollars (yes, I said hollars-I think I am using it correctly, as in the wind hollars down the hollars, but if you asked me to point out a hollar, I would have difficulty and hope it meant a ravine). It tumbles all the good earth smells about and tells me things. It told me last week to plow up a garden. I saw that others understood this message as well, for it seems everyone has new dark brown soil uncovered- just waiting for small green shoots. How different it will look here when it is brown and dry, but for now all is in contrast. The vibrant green grass, the rich new turned-up soil, and the hints of color on all the trees. My cherry trees stopped hinting yesterday, though. They are bursting out with flowers that surprised me and made me glad I did not go through with my plan for cutting them down last fall.

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The frogs have been my biggest surprise this spring, however. We have a pond (read small mosquito-breeding bog) right next to our house on our neighbor’s land that has a great many frogs as its inhabitants. In the summer they croak and bellow, a nice comfortable sound. Last week, however, as I was painting my cabinet doors, I heard the most annoying sound. I thought it was someone’s home alarm. I hoped it would stop when the person got home. But as the hours went on, I determined it unlikely. Either the said person was lying dead on the floor, or it was something else. When E. got home and said how much he enjoyed the frogs sounds this spring, I just nodded and agreed. So it was frogs, silly me!

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After I heard the call of the wind to get farmin’, I met a new neighbor who said he would plow up my plot. He is wonderful. I met him and his wife, Ida May, and their 60 year old son one afternoon at lunch. Having been directed to him by another neighbor, I interrupted their lunch (of meatloaf, corn, beans, cornbread, and apples- for lunch!) and got to know them. He went to school in my house, and knows every inch of the land here ’bouts. He agreed to come take a look, and one night, he brought his wife and a pick-axe to test out my soil. He was very against the idea of putting my garden in the convenient, flat, open place I had picked and felt it would be better to plant down near the barn. The fact that no hose would reach this far, (and come July, I would not either) did not deter him from his opinion. So with much grumbling and under-his-breath comments like “Well, you won’t grow nothin here” or “Ain’t good ground” he plowed it up for me. I guess being a farmer, he has never tried to grow anything in a new subdivision, and although he might be right about the other land being better, I am sure I can do alright.

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Well, more needs to be said about the wonders of the country and spring, etc, but it has been a long day. I need to lay down, finish my beer, and hope I don’t lose this post while I am putting the pictures up.

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