SNIPPETS: Springtime expectations ...

Click for More

Springtime expectations ...

Well, I have been stacking and packing, preparing for a move to the country, but we have yet to move. Our initial "get out" date was March 1, but we've been given several weeks' grace, which is a good thing. I've cleaned closets and drawers, done some rearranging and furniture storing, and moved the piano to the barnhouse, our home for the next year while we build. I'm ready to go.
I didn't think I'd be anxious to move -- I love the house we're in -- but I'm not big on limbo. I want to get settled, at least for the next 12 months. I want all my things in one spot. And, I think mainly, I want to experience springtime in the country. There's something romantic about that, you know? As poet Christina Rossetti once wrote: "Gone were the winter, Come were the spring, I would go to a covert where the birds sing . . . Full of fresh scents are the budding boughs, Arching high over a cool green house, Full of sweet scents and whispering air . . ."
The barnhouse is indeed a "cool green house," and although the pecan trees in the yard don't have much of a scent, they're still lovely, even as they claw the air right now with their bare branches. Still clutching winter, I guess. But spring is right around the corner. Winter can't last forever, and once it goes blustering out the door, in comes beautiful spring with its "whispering air." This grand entrance is officially in March, on the 20th this year. Ahh, crazy March, "master of winds, bright minstral and marshal of storms" (A. C. Swinburne).
Yep, I want to be in the country in the little green house with the tin roof when April showers arrive. I love the soft rain on that tin roof -- there's no lullaby more soothing.
I want to see the redbuds bloom and crocuses (croci?) peep from the warming soil. I'm sure there's dogwood somewhere out there . . . and forsythia . . . and I know we have yellow jasmine.
I want to swing in our comfy iron swing with lots of pillows and listen to the birds and the wind chimes. A medicinal glass of red wine would be nice with the swinging.
I want to ride in the golf cart at sunset around our little lake -- Lake Notalottawatta -- and I might even take in a sunrise now and then. Maybe.
I want to read my morning papers and drink a big cup of coffee (or two) on the porch, settled in a rocking chair, enjoying the peace and quiet of the wide open countryside. I want the dogs, Boots and Millie, to lie at my feet, rousing only to chase a squirrel every now and then. I want the cats, Gray and Lucky, to be there too (whenever Boots and Millie decide to allow it).
I want to pull on muddy boots and stroll over to the barn to nuzzle the horses -- not ride 'em, just love 'em. And who knows? If I get to be a real, sure 'nough country girl, I may decide to ride again. Not much to it but holding on.
I want to take long walks on the trails named for our grandkids, keeping watch for the darn beavers who love to dam the creek (well, okay, it's a drainage ditch), and survey daily our house construction over near the hay field.
I want to write and practice my violin and harpsichord and pull out some of the more difficult piano music I studied once upon a time. I want to play the old classics of the '30s and '40s and see if I can still sing "La Vie En Rose" in French, see if I can get anywhere near the high notes in "Visi D'Arte," and there will be "nobodies" around to cover their ears.
I want to enjoy this "retreat" with hubby G-Man, amidst all the animals and farm toys and land he loves. The barnhouse was his granddaddy's home. His aunts' home. His daddy originally wired it. Our dear departed sculptor friend, Floyd Shaman, carved Native American chieftans' likenesses for the mantle with a picture of G-Man's dad. (Floyd called it "Daddy and the Chiefs.") Nods to the Jacks's Native American heritage are all over the place. This house means a lot to G-Man, but the truth is, I love it almost as much as he does.
With spring comes rebirth, new opportunities, new expectations. My expectations for Spring, 2010? Very simply -- great happiness!

[Write: bethjacks@hotmail.com ]