The Sweet Scent of Spring

   As I made my way South to visit Momma, I drove with my windows down. It made it that much easier to inhale the smell of spring unfolding before me. The pollen laden air was fragrant with the scent of newly turned earth underlaid with tones of fertilizer, occasionally accented by the pungent whiff of manure. All about me were the signs of cultivation. Farmers were taking advantage of the demise of the ageless sleep of winter and embracing the glorious rebirth that spring affords. There were tractors everywhere and many a field boasted newly plowed rows and some fine terracing work. By the looks of it, Mr. John Deere is having a mighty good year.

   The grancy greybeards were also in full bloom, "just showing off" as my grandmother used to say. Their lacy arms swayed in greeting as I passed. I even tooted my horn at a couple of the most beautiful. My sisters laugh at me, but I felt I had to do something to say howdy and thank you in one fell swoop.  Sadly,  I was a little too late to see the magnificent display of spring azaleas, but the woods were still full of English dogwoods and the roadside phlox were jumping out everywhere just like a pink welcome mat.

Mr. Grancy Greybeard, thank you m'am.

     When heading down, some folks stay on the Interstate as long as possible to avoid the two-lane country roads, but not this girl (a loosely held appellation, I fear.) I can tolerate the Interstate, but put me on Hwy 189, good ole 331South or Rte 85 and I know I am home. Snodoun, Highland Home, Luverne, Brantley, Opp, Kingston, Gaskin, and Glendale are the sing-song towns as familiar to me as the back of my hand. They are old friends. From their surrounding environs I can judge whether times are good and whether times are hard, and I daresay these rural hamlets afford me a much better sense of the state of the American economy than the New York Stock Exchange ever could. Through the years I have watched the houses go up and the houses fall down. I have seen fortunes rise and fall by observing the strength of the fencepost, the state of the fields and which houses in town need a new coat of paint. We are in recovery, but barely. Good hard-working folks are still hurting out there. So as I wend my way down the ribbon of highway, I send up more than a few prayers for those who look ahead to the God in heaven for a good harvest even before they faithfully till and plant the fields. As they plow, they trust the rains will come in due season. As they sow, they trust the yield will be plentiful and full.  
   The prime interest rate and state of the dollar are secondary here, for it is the scent of the earth and the promise of spring that call to these folks. The farmers I know are more often than not people of faith. They know whom to trust. They know whom to ask. They know the One who is ever faithful. Dollars come and dollars go, but the Lord and His ways are unchanging ... yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It's a good thing to remember when driving the highways and smelling the spring. It's just a very good thing to remember...no matter what.