Early Spring in the Foothills
by Anne Bowman, Murphy, NC

 We are here on our covered porch, coffee cups in hand, after a long drive from Florida and a good night’s sleep in our cozy cabin in the Smokey Mountain foothills.

In mid-February we see sporadic signs of small creations, which have lain in tiny graves for several months. They show straight green shoots of new life and some their bright, yellow-petaled, tea-cup and saucer flowers. As though we’ve never seen such things, we cry out to each other at every sighting of these daring daffodils—the first to anoint their drab surroundings with a splash of radiant energy.

Though we see no further evidence, we have faith that new life is coming. Every leaf and flower, now dormant, will soon attempt to peek from its cozy bed of earth or tree limb, warmed by the sun’s generous rays. “Time to rise and shine,” I imagine their call to each other.

Daffodils are the harbinger, and we’ve been privy to their bravery. Hyacinths, tulips, crocus—or is it croci when they keep company with others of their family—and more will present themselves shortly, but not to us. In just four days we will return south where spring has already announced its presence. 

So, we must only imagine. We’ll continue to treasure spring in our little corner of Western North Carolina, while viewing from mind’s eye the long-legged forsythias, with their blossoms laced on stems before leaves appear. Or the pussy willows with their silky catkins, so charming to see and delightful to touch. 

My reminiscence now summons the dogwood trees that will soon show through the undergrowth of the wooded hills, peeking with shyness from their dense protection.

My mind now pictures the azaleas, rhododendrons, and mountain laurels. They will arrive sequentially in an overlapping manner on the tail of the awakened bulbs. We will be fortunate to witness some of their later blossoms among the fresh green leaves clothing the forested foothills, when in May we return to our little cabin in the big wood. Until then, I’ll be content to remember the hardy daffodils and imagine the beauty yet to come.

Copyright 2020, Anne Bowman