I live in the most magical place on earth.
Ask any Southerner and they will say some variation of the above statement with pride bordering on nostalgia. Am I proud of all things Southern? Not at all. There is a lot to be improved upon in my little corner of the globe. Yet, as a whole, i can’t imagine any place I’d rather call home than right here.
Spring in the South is a magical time. It starts with the faintest hints of white on the Bradford Pears. While I cannot stand Bradford Pears and they are, by no means, a “southern” tree, we can thank Southern Living Magazine for that little addition. But we won’t hold the rotten socks smell against them too badly, because we also have them to thank for the widespread introduction of the Japanese Magnolia, known in these parts as the Tulip Tree.
Southern springs are not all about plants and trees and flowers. It’s about life outdoors, eating and dining in chill evening air, sharing a moonlit walk with that special someone and, occasionally, wonky weather.
The first day of spring in the last year of first decade of the new millennium was no exception. For yesterday? We in Louisiana had snow. Not small, piddling snow but big, moist flakes cascading to their deaths on the pavement, on the green grass, in the trees.
And the second day of spring? Well, suffice it to say the table is set on the patio and dinner is in the oven.