Spring Fever

It's late and I'm tired, but I find I can't sleep without sharing some Spring with you. A deadly case of spring fever infected me today, and I sort of lost my mind. Because of the lateness of the spring, my sweet little violets are still in bloom so I took yet another photo to show you. And then I realized that the phrase "riotous color" must have been born when some flamboyant writer came upon spring azaleas for the first time.

Rodney and I took off this afternoon for an unexpected walk on the beach, and some magical combination of the change in seasons and the astronomical tide created a very low tide for the time of year, the lowest we've seen since last summer. The water was clear and there was a long, shallow lake on our side of a sand bar, created by the water trapped at the low tide. I found a couple of treasures, including a conch or whelk or whatever those things are, with a gorgeously slug-like creature at home. I took a picture and put it back in the water. And then (maybe a reward from on high?) I found a whole, living sand dollar. I haven't seen one of those outside a tourist shop since I was a kid. I really wanted to keep it, but Rodney pointed out that it was alive. Again, I took a picture and put it back in the extravagantly blue ocean. You can't see it in the photo; the light was shifting in the late afternoon and the shadows were tricky, but there is a very fine growth of fuzzy fauna on one side of the sand dollar. It looks like the fine short hair some babies have when they're born, the stuff that grieves you when it falls out. What a lovely thing it was to find. There was more - we found some very cool sharks' teeth and so on, but this was what I couldn't sleep without sharing.

Some folks I know are passing through a terrible trial right now; a great tragedy has been visited upon them. Without sharing the details, it's made me reflect long and hard about how fragile everything is. The delicate tissue that holds our lives together is so easy to think of as muscular and resilient. Perhaps in some ways, it is. But it can be so breakable, so brittle and almost impossible to put back together. Hold your babies tight, my loves. Love them all you can. Take them out into the spring sunshine and sit on a blanket as the air begins to warm. Say your prayers, wish your wishes, speak to your God or Goddess, guardian angel or higher power, and count your blessings. It is Spring, and the light has come again.

Birds and flowers and a taste of spring

There's a considerable risk that you've become weary of looking at sentimental spring pictures on this blog. But there's so much to show and such abundance of perfect weather, carelessly scattered flora and tender new beginnings that I feel utterly helpless to resist the urge to post. It might be the same at your house; I do dearly hope it is. Here are the catbirds, or rather, here's one of the catbirds. They tend to be kind of bossy and since they're bigger than the finches they pretty much control the bird feeders when they arrive. Here, also, is one of the robins I've mentioned lingering past their typical annual flight time. According to the local newspaper (fondly called "The Mullet Wrapper"), it's been such a chilly spring that the Carolinas are too cold to call the robins home. Perhaps that's also why the catbirds are arriving later, and in smaller numbers, than usual. I know the photo's blurry, but I couldn't resist. If you look closely, you can see he's fluttering his wings, almost as though he's doing a spring dance.



Blooming, also somewhat later than usual, are the tiny wild violets I love, and of which Ms. Moon's grandson is such a connoisseur. Ms. Moon has some white ones; I have previously confessed my jealousy. Mine are all this delicate shade of purple. In warmer springs they bloom in the first week of March and are just about gone by now. And finally, you can see the Carolina jessamine, another of nature's town criers announcing the arrival of spring. This stuff curls itself around every kind of tree and bush close enough to the warm spring sun to give it hope. So small are its flowers that from a distance you sometimes just see a palm tree with a strangely yellow crown on its head, or a clump of scrub oaks and palmettos sporting an inexplicable cloud of yellow. When you get close enough, you can see these lovely little flowers. Because of the live oaks and water oaks around our house you often see the jessamine flowers climbing and trailing 50 or 75 feet over your head. Falling, they create spots under the trees that are starred with blossoms, pretty enough to lead a bride up the aisle. This last is something I've been trying to photograph this week, and as soon as I get the right image I'll share it with you.

I hope you have all the fixings for a fine big salad for your supper tonight, and some excellent homemade dressing for it. If you have some sliced almonds or chopped walnuts or pecans, toast them in a skillet or in the oven and toss them on top. Even if it's still too cold to eat supper outside, enjoy the fresh flavors and know that spring is closer than you think. It always is.


Eat Here photo credits: all images thanks to Rodney Christensen