Spring Comes To Georgia

Winter is over, but this has been a winter to remember.  For the most part it has been unusually warm, although it ended with an unexpected return of artic conditions.  Just when in seemed that the cold weather gear could be put away, it was necessary to bundle up.

Nonetheless, we experienced many weeks of a spring-like climate long before the vernal equinox.  The consequences of this were a delight.  Many flowers blossomed earlier and in greater profusion than is normal.  The redbuds, for example, came out in all their glory.  Instead of nearly being frozen to death, they lasted for weeks.

My wife and I have, in recent years, made a habit of visiting Gibbs Gardens several times from March through November.  This year we got a head start because the daffodils began to come out in February.  They were in full bloom weeks ahead of schedule.

For those readers who are not familiar with Gibbs Gardens, it is one of the wonders of north Georgia.  In addition to featuring twenty million daffodils—that’s right, twenty million—the rotodendrums, roses, and hydrangeas are of incomparable beauty.

As for the Japanese Garden, it produces the sort of tranquility it was designed to elicit.  Whatever the season, ambling along its ponds and contemplating its statues, willows, and Japanese maples, is to be transported into world of peace and serenity.  However stressful a day might otherwise be, its loveliness is a soothing balm.

In any event, living in the exurbs provides an opportunity to interact with nature.  It is possible to watch the cherry trees begin to blossom, the loropetalum flowers to wither from the cold, and the grass struggle to become green.  Then too there are the mocking birds singing their hearts out and the robins scurrying after worms.

If I sound a bit maudlin, it is because I am.  Our glorious spring here in Georgia makes me think back to the brick and concrete streets of my youth in Brooklyn.  There were gardens in my old neighborhood, but they were tiny affairs.  A bush here, an iris and pussy willow there, were about all they could muster.

As I grow older, I better appreciate the small miracles that surround us.  Yes, I know this is a cliché, but it is true nonetheless.  Readers of my column will know that I am not above criticizing current events.  Our recent political environment has been toxic.  It is, therefore, nice to be reminded there is much to be grateful for.

An old Asian epic tells us that a king asked his wise men if there was a statement that would always be true, to which he received an insightful response.  He was told “and this too shall pass” fit his requirement.  Life carries on.  It always does.  Not only the seasons change, but so do the circumstances of our lives.

The problems that we as a nation are now facing will almost surely be solved.  They will probably not be resolved as conclusively as we hope, but sufficiently so that we can move on to something else.  That which seems insurmountable today will recede into a past where its intensity will diminish.

If we can avoid mistakes that cannot be rectified, many unexpected events will consume our attention.  Countless good things will befall us, as will many bad ones.  What these will be cannot, however, be predicted with much accuracy.

In the meantime, spring is only beginning to unfold.  There is certain to be pollen that will set many of us sneezing, but also tree leaves to protect us from ultra bright sunlight.  Rains will fall, another drought might be in store, and eventually summer, autumn, and winter will return.

This, I realize, has been a sappy column.  But every now and then, when the work piles up and some difficulties seem insoluble, I need to be reminded spring reoccurs annually.  And when it does, my wife and I will revisit Gibbs Gardens to recharge our batteries.

Here’s hoping that you can do the same in your personal life and that we as a nation will reconcile our differences without wrecking our futures.  Compromise, genuine compromise, can be as revitalizing as a walk through a daffodil filled meadow.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University