Cousin Bobby from Kissimmee, Florida, writes, “As I have observed for a quarter of a century, right on schedule, spring has come to central Florida.  Our cycle of chilly weather is broken, and daytime temperatures hover around 80 degrees.  Dormant lawns begin to grow and trees start putting out new leaves.”

Here in the hills of West Virginia, the March lion is still on the prowl as snowflakes drift down, and March is showing her true character.  First, huge snowflakes pelted down out of the sky, which turned to a light drizzle and then scattered snowflakes began falling. There is hope that March will turn her sunnier side and bless us with some warm days.

Cousin Bobby also send a poem that is a bright spot on this gloomy day.

SPRING INSPIRATION

     By Frank S. (Bobby) Samples

There’s a hint of green in the winter scene,

And my step’s a little lighter.

There comes a shower about once an hour,

Making sunshine all the brighter.

See the swollen river heaving

‘Neath its burden of debris,

Then labor down to the lower ground,

And sweep it out to sea?

Ah, Spring, how new and fair she is,

The promises she holds

New life for earth and mankind

Gods’ miracles unfolds.

Winter’s shackles on the earth

Are broken now by life’s rebirth.

Buds are bursting, robins sing,

In this first sweet breath of spring.

There is within this mortal sphere

No other season, that when here,

Brings greater joy to any heart

Than those that dawning Spring impart.

Rusty-bellied worm stretchers

Hopping on my lawn,

Or singing in the treetops

In joy that winter’s gone.

Puddles shrink before the wind

And vanish from the lane.

Only to re-form again

In April’s sudden rain.

The joy that in my bosom swells

No poet could express,

Describe the early crocus

Nor breeze’s soft caress.

If all of heaven were compressed

Into a single day,

No disappointment would I find

If it should be that way.

Let Cousin Bobby enjoy his Florida spring—the best for us is yet to come.

Those few warm days last week brought an urge to the housewife (me, anyway) to really dig in and clean out winter’s dirt.  This is the bleakest time of the year.  The yard is strewn with the debris that the winter storms have left behind, with a good deal of help from the yard dogs.  The house has been shut up tight against the frigid wind, and has accumulated a greasy film of dust and dirt.  The bright sunlight now streaming through the windows reveal cobwebs and grime that the dull days of winter had hidden.  There is so much to do that a person hardly knows where to start.  It makes me want to leave the house, go out in the sunshine, and bask on a comfortable rock like a lizard.  The only catch is, the sunshine could turn to snowflakes in this fickle March weather.

It is nigh impossible to clean a house where every member is a collector.  (Notice I didn’t use the word “pack rat” as that comes too close to home.)  I have come to the conclusion that I don’t clean out junk—I merely re-arrange it.  Sorting out paperwork is one of the hardest tasks that I have.  It is too tempting to read my collection of interesting articles all over again.  I can spend half a day—or longer—sitting on the floor with papers surrounding me.

When Matthew was still home, he was the worst one in the family.  He even saved the ribbons and wrapping paper from his gift packages.  I think he is a throwback to Grandpa O’Dell.  He was a true pack rat!  He had an old metal trunk with a curved lid where he kept his treasures.  He kept everything—pieces of string, worn out shoe heels, bent nails, dozens of combs (we couldn’t keep a comb at home; for some reason, they all mysteriously disappeared!)    He collected pieces of scrap metal, old shoe strings, a ball of tin foil, Prince Albert tobacco cans—they were carefully hoarded in his trunk.

He kept his trunk locked, and every time he opened it, we children would crowd around to see Grandpa’s treasures.  “Now you young’uns don’t plunder in that stuff,” he would say testily.  We would stand back respectfully while he lifted the flat tray from the top to search for something he needed or to stash something else away.  It had a peculiar, metallic odor to it that I can smell yet today.

He was such a good grandpa.  In my mind, his prayers echo down through past.  He would say, “Lord we thank you for a beautiful ‘sunshine’ day,” When he testified in church, he often said,   “When God ran me through His sawmill, I may have come out just a two by four, but I was straight!”  He was a short, sturdy man, and when he had his picture made, he would take a Napoleon-like stance and thrust his hand into the front of his jacket.

To continue the saga of our Jack Russell puppy, Polly, we have a new chapter.  She is the fastest thing on four legs, and can run like a streak of lightning.  If you drop something in the floor, she will grab it and run before you can turn around.  She runs to the back bedroom and hides the item under the bed, where we later can retrieve it.

The other morning I dropped a bottle of prescription medicine out of my basket, and quick as a flash, she grabbed it and ran.  We were afraid she would chew the top off and over medicate herself.  We could not find the bottle.  Criss, Patty and her husband Bob literally tore the bedroom apart, and it was nowhere to be found.

Finally, Criss got the bright idea to turn the box springs on its side, and sure enough, he discovered her hiding place.  She had torn a hole in the lining and was stashing her goodies back in the lining.  She had my bottle opener, some candy, my medicine and various other items hidden there.  I’m sure she will find another hiding place.

After a furious snow shower this morning, which looked like Old Mother Goose was shaking her feather bed, the sky has cleared and sunshine graces our day.  I don’t know whether to begin spring-cleaning, or bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies.  Well, I can clean anytime!