I dread driving long distances. The monotony is broken by brief periods of absolute fear when the interstate becomes like bumper cars at the State Fair. However, crisscrossing our state these past few weeks, I have enjoyed the telltale signs of spring.
- Along an upstate farm-to-market road, plum bushes, flowering fuchsia against dark bark.They are one of Mother Nature’s best contributions to minimalist art.
- A rising tide swells and pushes the Stono River against marsh grasses, the setting sun splayed across waters rippled by a stiff northeasterly wind.
- Volunteer daffodils randomly lace an otherwise sterile stretch of I-26 median, as if their “hit and miss” patches are in silent revolt to a long-abandoned SCDOT beautification project that tried to enforce order on nature through blossom saturation.
- Turtles sunning on a Piedmont pond bank, their onyx shells glinting amongst tufts of dormant fescue and a bumper crop of wild onions.
My mind wanders. What spring memories would I relive if given the chance?
A memory from age 10 of seining a Lowcountry tidal creek and sorting through the crabs, shrimp, fish and shells that tumbled out onto the floor of the boat. A pinch of the crab’s claws and the realization that the shrimp looked a lot different than when they were in a cocktail made indelible impressions.
I can’t leave off my list the brisk May Saturday I spent with my then 8-year-old son exploring Bulls Island. Armed with two sandwiches, water, sunscreen and a towel, we had the whole of the beach to ourselves. We were Robinson Crusoes for a day.
Catching my very first bass. It was all luck and no skill. I hooked a silver spoon lure on my bream hook and used my cane pole to jig the lure up and down. I caught two fair-sized bass in five minutes. Then my unanchored lure slipped off the hook and fell to the bottom. My beginner’s luck had played out.
Finding a covey of days-old quail along a fencerow. They appeared as an unexpected hybrid of a bumblebee and a bantam chick.
Hanging from a zip line and plunging through depths of a farm pond: first six inches were chilly succeeded by bone-numbing cold. After an hour or two, my arms and shoulders burned and my cut-off shorts were permanently dyed red by the clay in the water.
Puppies, cats, calves and foals reaching adolescence as spring burst forth. Young pets became my shadow as I walked, ran, stubbed my toe and stone-bruised my heel breaking in my bare feet for the summer.
The quiet of an afternoon spent studying for law-school exams in a hammock strung between two poplars. A tractor swing slung from the lowest branch of a nearby oak serving as a reminder of earlier springs—and that growing up has its costs.
South Carolina in the spring is hard to rival, but fun to share. Visit South Carolina Living's Facebook page this month, and post your favorite spring photos and memories.