Last week blossomed with the onset of spring, and five days out of school spawned vacations and outdoor plans for many across the county.
Even one who is chronically frigid — OK, maybe the wrong term… how about… frosty, freezing, perpetually bundled up? — could strip off the jacket and sweater and double-layered shirts to enjoy the warm temperature in merely a t-shirt and Capri pants.
The late week temps were so pleasant, even the kids could shed their coats and run around the yard, looking longingly at creek water flowing under the bridge, dreaming of the day they would have permission to “accidentally” slip in the water.
When I was little, we had a creek flowing alongside our house in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, much like the one that now flows in front of my parents’ house here in Brown County. Our Kentucky home was nestled between three mountains, in that elusive locale called a “holler” — no, not hollow, it’s a holler. My parents’ home now is nestled between two hills (sorry, they pale in comparison to the Appalachian Mountains), at what we would have called “the mouth of the holler” back home.
Brown County has given us a place to live that is ever so reminiscent of the place I grew up and fondly recall as home.
The budding springtime always reminds me of those days in the holler, when we climbed the hills, played in the dirt, swam in the creek, laid in the sun, swung on the porch swing, and — yes, I hesitate admitting it — ran around barefoot (OK, I still love going barefoot!).
Life seemed so simple then. We welcomed the springtime because it meant we made it through the winter. We loved listening to the frogs in early evening, singing us a sweet lullaby. Catching their song while swinging on the porch was always a sure way to be lulled to sleep, until the crisp air blew in, bringing with it a call from our multi-quilted cozy beds.
Many times we get caught up in the worries and troubles of being an adult that we long to recapture those moments sitting on the porch swing, eyes closed, moving back and forth, listening to the amphibian serenade and breathing in the cool air as it wisped across the face. Silence and stillness and peace enveloped the moment.
Perhaps this spring we all can take a moment to capture the promise and rebirth of spring.
May we also realize, when the weather turns rainy, gray and chilly — like it did as spring break came to a close — the winter weather regression is only temporary, and we’ll be listening to frogs again soon.