Just the other day I was thinking that I had not seen any Dogwood in bloom yet this year. The Dogwood always blooms by Easter. Then on Sunday while traveling a country road I noticed the native azalea and Dogwood were beginning to put on their show. No doubt it’s Easter week.
Every year I say the same thing, isn’t it amazing how it doesn’t matter the calendar date on which Easter Sunday falls, the Dogwoods always know when to bloom.
The symbolism of the Dogwood is one admired by Christians everywhere. The cross-shaped blossom with its nail-scarred tips, the reddish tint of blood, and the center crown of thorns all remind us of the true meaning of Easter. That of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Christian legend also states that the cross Jesus died on was made from the wood of the Dogwood tree and that after his crucifixion God chose to never allow the Dogwood to grow a trunk large enough to build a cross that size again.
I had not seen the Dogwood yet, I think, because I had not looked. Too wrapped up in the everyday hustle and bustle of life to take a moment to smell the roses or in this case eye the Dogwood. I have to admit, though, I did smell the wisteria in the woods behind our house last week and thought it smelled sweeter this year.
Nature’s other symbol of Easter, the Easter cold snap, certainly seems to be on the radar for this week. Wind and chilly temperatures will combine to make for a miserable couple of mornings outside and I hear tell there is a chance for patchy frost. And, yes, I do have plants in the ground already.
I turned off the pilot lights to the heaters last Friday and turned them back on Sunday afternoon. Always one step forward and two back. Perhaps by the time the Easter bonnets, and frilly dresses, and seersucker suits are on the streets this weekend the temperatures will have warmed up a bit and the wind died down a bit as well. I would hate for one of the ladies to lose their pretty hat!
Relaxing on the front porch Sunday afternoon would be nice. Kind of like in the days gone by while watching the little ones search for eggs. The youngest child in our family is 28 now and will dye eggs, but probably not search for them amongst the tall grass any more. Snakes and bugs and the sort, you know.
I will have to give her credit for one of my favorite quotes, one that is scribbled on the kitchen chalkboard this time of year, every year. “Easter’s gonna love this, ain’t he Momma,” is what our little girl blurted out one year so many years ago as we were putting out some decor, I think, but it’s been so long that I don’t remember why, I just remember the phrase and that sweet little voice, and the smile it brought to my face. It just did again in fact!
I was hoping the rain would have washed at least some of the pollen away over the weekend, but if it did anything it seems it made it worse. It was, on the other hand, wet enough to make a terrible mess out of Pine Grove Road. Our end anyway.
This Easter will be different, again, as was the last one, but it will be different in somewhat of a better way. Some churches are open and services will be held in-house even if in a pandemic minded manner. That’s good. Perhaps by next year, we’ll be back to the old normal, or as close to it as we shall ever be.
You know, now that I’ve opened my eyes a bit wider and taken the time to take in what’s around me, there is much to see. In this most holy season of resurrection and rebirth there is so very much to see. Not just in the trees or the bushes but in the people around us as well. Like the beautiful blossoms and sweet smell of wisteria, there are smiling faces out there behind those masks. Plenty of folks are still saying good morning, and good afternoon, and have a great day, it’s just hard to understand them at times.
The Dogwood is in bloom.
I saw it.
It is Easter.