“In the hills, March is a woodpecker drumming in a new season. It’s the liquid trill of tree frogs and the plaintive notes of peepers heralding the return of spring. It’s wild geese winging their way northward over the Smokies and blue jays chattering of new days to come. It’s the sun writing tomorrow’s message on the earth. It’s a time when winter lingers in the lap of spring. It’s gusty days and calm days, chill days and warm days. It’s April whispering from the ridgetops while March goes whistling down the valley. It’s song sparrows in the alders and robins strutting in the pasture. It’s a velvet-coated bumblebee hunting for a nest site and a honeybee buzzing for the first taste of pollen. March is the first daffodils making the whole world golden.”
—John Parris – “March in the Hills – These Storied Mountains”
As we worked outside a few days ago I was reminded of the words above. Spring of the year is coming on fast in Brasstown and while the sunshine is warm on my face the shadows under the porch and trees make me wish I had a bigger coat on.