by Judy Ann Davis
I’m the first to admit that I like April, even though we’re still stuck in March.
April is the month when all the flowers from bulbs beneath the sleepy earth start sprouting. Daffodils, crocus, wind flowers, and small grape hyacinths bring color and life back to the flowerbeds.
I think back to my childhood and how my mother loved plants and bushes of all types. We were a farm family, and it was not unusual to visit a neighbor’s house and go home with a piece of a bush, or some shoots wrapped in a wet rag, or a bundle of roots tied up in a burlap feed bag. Mother always found a place to plant her treasures and nurse them to maturity. And the favor was returned when friends, relatives, and neighbors came to call and left with a clump of rhubarb or day lilies.At the front corner of my house, I still have trumpet vines from cuttings my mother gave me decades ago. Every fall we chop them back to stubby trunks, and in the spring they explode in a flourish of leaves and blossoms that entice the hummingbirds.
In the back yard, I have a bed of rag roses from around an old stone foundation of a house built in the early 1800s and situated along a well-used route westward. Everyone always referred to the cleared, often muddy pathway as “The Old Road.”
April brings back lots of good memories. It’s a time of warm days, a time to get ready for spring planting and, for those of us who like to play in the dirt, it’s a month of sheer joy.
I’ll end with a colloquialism that the farmers often used in northeastern Pennsylvania: “So long, March!”