March 20, 2008

‘A bird song up from a windy thorn’

“There is music, now, In the wild burst of spring: Out from the black bough, white petals—caroling!” wrote John Travis Moore ten decades ago. Following in his footsteps, I sing the joys of spring: finally from the patio, even if it requires a hooded sweatshirt. I choir with first frogs. An hour longer since today’s first spring day has Daylight Savings Time which started last week. My loathing of that has turned to love.

What a joyous and eventful week Angelkeep dwellers are having. Since last Sunday’s Palm Sunday observance, the emphasis is on patio pan fires rather than the continual search-n-count of crocus blooms. Also last week my mother-in-law, Mary Esther Line, became 90 years young. I think of all the wondrous springs she has enjoyed. Undoubtedly if God grants me such years, a croaky old bassafoon of a voice will yet be caroling at Angelkeep when the black boughs burst buds of bloom.

How better to enjoy this week in which Spring arrives than with Monday’s patio pan full of glowing coals roasting Irish potatoes. ‘Tis a bit o’ Eran Go Bragh. Tra ya shoodt, ‘n ‘ill goo doon goot. Foll’it wit’ a McCourt read. If you missed St. Patrick’s Day, Angelkeep recommends hollowing a super-size spud. Fill it with a mixture of heated broccoli, peas, green onion tops, feta cheese, green pepper, and Wasabi mustard. Add black pepper to taste. It’s memorable—like Spring. It also fits well with my attempt to shrink the fold that tried to flop over my belt at the end of the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year’s Day feeding frenzy.

The local tree buds are feeling what my belly felt last January. An enormous amount of outerwear shrinkage occurs in Indiana when winter clothing is stored in plastic boxes during summer months. The Angelkeep willows’ buds are bursting at the belt. Oak and ash will produce new leaves much later, allowing for the eruption of another Hoosier spring covering several weeks. It’s like new verses to the Hallelujah Chorus. Both call us to stand in awe and praising new beginnings.

The vernal equinox is today. It is the first day of the romantic season. Ask birds and bees. It is the day for which farmers and gardeners have perused seed catalogs all winter in anticipation. It means deep breaths to hordes of hairy hibernators. It is why I parade around Angelpond seeking nature’s signs of rebirth. This equinox day (due to EDST and tomorrow’s full moon) is the longest possible of Spring’s gala. Caroling till midnight?

Easter Sunday is this weekend because it is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox. That makes this Easter about as early as can ever be. What significance it adds to a week of celebration. What better to commemorate than the return to life of the Son of God, Jesus?

Easter Sunday turns our full moon Friday into Good Friday. It is a good day to reflect on the resurrection of crocus, tulips, lilies and other plants and animals. That draws me to another “good Book.” We find accounts from Biblical days when the day was not filled with singing. It was filled with false accusations, darkness, hatred and death. Stormy darkness came in the afternoon with no full moon to cast any hope or joy. But oh, what a difference three days can make.

Some don’t believe this non-fiction Book. I’ll be an ending-spoiler and tell you He arose from the dead. Yet, non-fiction, and worth another read.

It would not be amiss to take Moore’s words to heart and go caroling now. As songsters move from door to door harmonizing “He arose! He arose!” instead of “Jingle bells, jingle bells,” the heavens will be filled with the orchestra of songbirds. Bunnies will thump percussion as they scurry about green brightened grass doing what they know to do on an Easter Eve and morn.

It is doubtful anyone living today will see another stellar celebration week as this. Spring’s first breath surrounded in a single week with Palm Sunday, St. Patrick’s Day, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. It’s a resurrection celebration with timpani. A halleluiah week of coming forth as a chick from an egg. Life from death, as from the tomb.

If you read John T. Moore, “When you walk out in spring,” you will encounter “Eastertide.”

“I heard the bells at Eastertide, at Eastertide of a morning view, and there a robin sang beside, and the grass was wet with dew. I heard the bells from farm to town and over the roofs and far and wide, and I looked up, and a star looked down at happy Eastertide. The star looked down, the bells rang out, a bird sang up from a windy thorn, and people came from miles about in the joy of Easter morn.”

Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their back yard and have named it “Angelkeep.”

by ALAN DAUGHERTY

Talk about this story in our forums!