Faith, Folklore, and Friends

They always come , my Daddy said, the spring rains always come. Some years, they come in roaring storms; the rain falling too fast for the cold ground to absorb. They come with hot lightning and thunder that makes our houses tremble. Some years, they come gentle, sweetly watering the pregnant ground waiting to birth a new season, a new spring. We've had rain about every day this week, and the water is standing; the saturated ground can't hold anymore.  Everywhere, trees are budding, fat, just about ready to explode into bloom.  The rain has washed off winter's dirty gray, allowing some green to peep through. The spring rains always come , my Daddy said. Winter-weary people rejoice.

Last year, we had some dead limbs removed from our biggest tree, hoping to save it. The tree was struck by lightning about five years ago.  It continued to die, and branches were always falling, so we decided to go ahead and have it taken down.  It was a home to many, including those beautiful woodpeckers that come to my feeders. Now, it is firewood. Pretty sure Hub can make some benches for the yard out of that big trunk. He is not so sure, and will need lots of encouragement.   The weatherman predicts a cold front next week with temps dropping into the forties at night.  We have plenty of wood for the fireplace.