It was Browning, I believe, who wrote, “Oh, to be in England, Now that Aprils there,

Personally I know nothing of England at this season. My experience is limited to what you can see though the fog from a troop train window in October. The trim lawns and hedges were beautiful, and in the spring I am sure they are more so. But still I am not interested in trading our own spring for anything in the world.

One late March a group of us went on a fishing trip to Mexico. When we got home, the shrubs and fruit trees were through blooming. I have always felt since then that I had just lost a year out of my life.

You may at times have felt that you were abused or maybe underprivileged to be living in our great Mid-America area. It gets awfully hot at times, and awfully cold, or dry or wet at other times. But our springs and falls make up for all of it to me.

The colorful travel folders and Chamber of Commerce releases make some of the so-called warm climates seem enticing. But I always seem to get there when they are experiencing their worst weather in “17 years,” “5O years” or whatever they choose to call it.

It probably is pretty much a case of what we are used to. I have some friends who apparently feel sorry for me living where I do. The feeling is mutual. I actually feel sorry for them. They just dont know what they are missing.

The sights, sounds and smells of spring are intoxicating. From the first snowdrop or crocus to the last freezing chrysanthemum, it is a continuous round of thrills. And with it all there are the birds.

To some this may sound like a lot of prop-wash, but I am sure there are some who share this glowing feeling when spring arrives in our area.

Its five oclock in the morning, coffee was drunk an hour or so ago. I just HAD to get my laptop out. Maybe, just maybe, I can paint a word picture of our back yard this morning”a picture that you too can see and feel.

I thrill of turning our spot lights on in the back yard. We sit in the dark, drinking coffee (personally I prefer cocoa”but its fattening). The snow comes swirling, skipping and dancing. They tell me it is permissible, at my age, to repeat oneself.

The snow started as a light rain, turned to snow. First forecasts two to four inches. There was a bit over 24 hours later it stopped at 15 inches. Starting wet, it stuck. The first evening I sat in the dark by the side of the window, looking towards the light, watching the flakes as they came scurrying out of the northeast. Away from the light they were white. As they neared the light they seemed to hurry, and turned incandescent like a Fourth of July sparkler. Through half”closed eyes they seemed alive, like tiny glowing coals.

The second morning the sun came out and things were a sight to behold. Pine trees were hay stacks of white. Drifts were as high as they used to seem to be when I was a kid. Across the back yard, the tops of drifts were rippled ridges like blown sand. With a little imagination you could see the grandeur of the Alps”or maybe just our own Rockies.

By this morning something new had been added. Last evening it was calm, with just the tiniest wisp of a breeze from the South. It was moisture laden, hitting cold snow and air. When the outside lights were turned on an hour or so ago, was when the scene was truly”well, you supply the proper words”I cant.

First to be seen was the nearby weeping willow. Its slender yellow limbs had turned to wands of crystal white frost. Someone had put coconut frosting on the cake”like junipers. A handful of sparklers had been added for good measure.

The pine tree beyond the rose bed was like the sprayed white Christmas trees so popular now. The ornamental plum, with its short, scraggly spurs, had likewise caught the mood. The swollen buds on the Magnolia Soulangeana looked like Christmas tree light bulbs on a pine that had lost its needles.

Here is the one sad note: With batteries dead in my digital camera all I have is a photograph of it in my memory. I hope you can picture in part at least the beauty I have been trying to describe.

As the ground wasnt frozen when the snow came, it does mean a good soaking for the grass and flowers.

Normally in this area, there is usually some report about the first robin. Some robins stick around all winter, however. This year we had one in the back yard in mid-January. One year-during the very, very dry years when open water was almost non-existent, we lived out in the country where we used a spring for our water supply as suggested by a visitor who taught me some plant watering tips.

This ran into a storage tank, then there was an overflow pipe at the top. This was on the side of a hill in a protected valley. Birds would come there in swarms to get a drink, and in the middle of the winter I have seen hundreds of robins lining up to get a chance at the water.