Look . . . across the enchanting land . . . Stop . . . and listen . . . to
The earliest sign of run-off in Appalachian Mountain Country appears on the southern slopes. A mountain stream is born washing away the litter of Winter’s waste and flushing the hills and valleys into another Appalachian Mountain Springtime.
Two distinctive color crowns have been gently sponge-painted across the broad breast of the ridges. One belongs to the Maple trees and is a pretty, reddish hue. The other is a radiant, greenish-yellow; the chartreuse of young oak buds.
Underneath this canopy a floral fantasy is coming to life on the faded, leaf-brown forest floor.
Among the first to appear is the adder’s tongue or trout lily.
Somewhat in keeping with its name, this daring advanced scout stabs it way boldly up
through the leaf cover. It seems to test out Appalachian Mountain Country’s
temperature, moisture, and light intensity with its freckled-face, rich green blades. As
soon as it is satisfied that conditions are right, a bright yellow flower pops out of the
stem and calls the others to follow.
Hepatica’s, trilliums, pink and lavender-blue toothworts, dandelion, and precious shirl-blue violets shimmer across the land like sheets of sparkling jewels flipped off the tip of a fairy godmother’s magic wand.
A sense of awe and wonder fills us with gladness for our own humanness.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published April 20, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.