April has left us, and with her departure is taking most of our wet and gloomy days, and, leaving us with sunshine and blue skies. How our hearts have longed for these warm days of spring! The children are overjoyed to be able to run barefoot through the tender new grass that is springing up all over
April tucks her slightly damp robes about her and glides gracefully from the hills, leaving tranquil May to reign for the next month. May has always seemed to be a dainty little maiden, wearing flower-sprigged garments and tripping lightly through the woods. She sprinkles wildflowers as she goes and
April showers bring May flowers, but what does April snow bring? According to my late mother, who was a fount of wisdom, April snow brings babies. Also, April snow water was a good remedy for burns. As for the babies. I wonder now if you rubbed April snow on your skin, ate it or wallered in it. At
The cold, rainy days of March seem to have bled over into the usually warmer days of April, with more rain and cloudy skies. Some folks have remarked that this has been the wettest March that they can remember, and it seems that way. We look forward to the March winds to dry up winter’s mud, but
It was still dark when the women arose from their beds, hurriedly put on their garments, and started down the path to the sepulcher where the body of Jesus lay. The pine torch flickered, sending out a warm smell of resin that blended pleasantly with the sweet odor of the spices that they carried to
March did come in like the proverbial lion, howling ferociously and throwing his weight all around. He is still crouched in the shadows, flinging cold temperatures and a few snowflakes about. We awakened to a skift of snow, but sunshine has already put it to rout. The air is icy however, and the March
A fine snow is sifting down upon the countryside, and the cows stand on the hillside and look bewildered at the change of weather. After a few mild days, it is hard to re-adjust to winter making another swipe at us. It is still February however, and we can expect more winter weather to come.
“In winter’s cold and sparkling snow
The garden in my mind does grow.
I look outside to blinding white,
And see my tulips blooming bright.
And over there a sweet carnation,
Softly scents my imagination.
On this cold and freezing day,
The Russian sage does gently sway,
By Sidney Lanier
My soul is sailing through the sea,
But the Past is heavy and hindreth me.
The Past hath crusted cumbrous shells,
That hold the flesh of cold sea-mells
About my soul.
The huge waves wash, the high waves roll,
“Tis the week after Christmas, and all through the house…“I wanted to leave my decorations up until New Year’s Day (now I wonder why I had such a notion.) Dry pine needles are shedding all over the coffee table and dust is beginning to cover the glass figurines and holiday candles.
I feel like
I was dozing on the couch a few days before Christmas, when the scent of warm pine needles and candle wax permeated my consciousness. Still in my semi-conscious state, I was transported back through the years to a rough, little house perched on the bank of the creek. A gleaming Christmas tree stood
I’d like to climb on the wooden sled with Larry, and let Daddy pull us across the snow to hunt the perfect pine tree. We would have to stop and look at the intricate formation of the snowflakes that were falling on Daddy’s brown jersey gloves, and marvel that “no two are exactly alike.” The
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread.
The robin and the wren are flown,
Summer was dying; they all agreed. It was evident in the pallor of her early morning fogs, and in the encroaching coolness of her nights. She was a little slower in getting up in the morning, and evening found her creeping off to bed just a little earlier. She had lost the buoyant enthusiasm of her
O, suns, and skies, and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather;
By Helen Hunt Jackson
The heavenly blue sky of October overshadows our hills today; such an expanse of color that it makes a person glad to be alive. It is reflected in
The Golden Delicious apples are being picked on farms in Clay County, sending housewives for their cookers, pans and paring knives. This particular apple is a native of Clay County, West Virginia, being discovered on the Mullins farm at Bomont. The fame of this delicious apple has spread world-wide,
September is such an in-between month—not quite summer and not quite fall. It is the tail end of summer, as gardens begin to finish their work for another season. The ripe smell of corn tassels hang heavy in the air, as the corn stalks turn brown and dry. The late crops have mostly matured, and
September sings her plaintive melody as she enters our hills, putting summer to flight and bringing cooler weather. The humming birds are gone. One day they were hovering over the feeders, fussing and chittering, and the next day not one of the tiny creatures could be seen. Obeying an instinct as
The days are growing a little shorter and in summer’s melody there can be heard a sad note of fall now and then. Gardens continue to produce prolifically, and the harvesting and canning keeps the country housewife busy from daylight to dusk. The full cellar shelves and well-stocked freezer gives
“If the first week of August is unusually warm—the coming Winter will be snowy and long.”
“For every fog in August, there will be a snowfall in Winter.”
“If cold August follows a hot July, it foretells a Winter hard and dry.”
From Weather Lore
The dog days of summer are dwindling
Midsummer heat beams down upon the hills now, and we are surrounded by green hills, green meadows and green lawns. Summer flowers are appearing in fields and along highways, brightening the landscape and pleasing our senses. The brilliant blue chicory blossoms abound along roadways, cheering the traveler
Hot and full-blown, summer comes breathlessly into the hills. She blows her sultry breath over the countryside, coaxing the gardens to grow and flourish, and covers the hills with thick, green underbrush.
The early garden crops seem to grow overnight, while the weeds grow almost as fast as the vegetables.
Our hills simmer under July heat, as the sun beats down relentlessly upon humans and animals alike. Hound dogs hunt for shade under automobiles or porches, while humans seek their air-conditioned homes. Those who have to work outside take frequent water breaks, and protect their heads with wide-brimmed
Fathers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes—short, tall, curly hair, no hair, old, young, skinny, stout, etc.—but one thing that they all have in common: a real father loves his children. Fathering a child does not necessarily make a real father. Some of the best fathers that I know are not
Spring is getting ready to depart from our hills, while summer is impatiently waiting to make her appearance. With the dignity of a queen, she will move into our hills and hollers once again. Crowned with daisies and smelling sweetly of clover blossoms, she will blow her humid breath throughout