I think I've rarely experienced such poignant springs as when my family lived in the last house but one. Maybe part of the reason is that I spent my teenage years there, but I think the house had a lot to do with it--a white colonial with red shutters. The first flowers to bloom were the forsythia out back and the crocuses. Then, one after the other, the ornamental crabapple, bradford pear, and three ornamental cherries would bud and flower. We had grape hyacinths in front of the shrubs and in the round bed among the cherry trees were a variety of nameless pastel perennials. When summer came, the long-lived periwinkles, rose of sharon, and wild strawberries would emerge at the side of the house where the two big pine trees carpeted the slope with golden needles. Usually my grandfather came for a visit and to plant a vegetable garden by the basement door, where the sunlight was always bright. In the corner of the fence, across from the garden, was a rose bush with a lemon-pepper scent.
Spring has gruesomely sprung in my basement. Last week, I had a run-in with my first big spider in months. It had a long fuzzy body with an almost-as-long fuzzy head (if spiders have what can properly be called heads)--kind of like two black pipecleaners jointed together--and legs like unbent hairpins fanned out proportionally around its body, preserving the general oval shape. Unlike the slothful wolf spider of last fall, this one was skitterish and quickly escaped my stomping foot. Although it disappeared into the laundry room, my bold housemate later debilitated it with orange-scented bug spray when it emerged from a corner by the water heater.
weapons of war just outside my bedroom:
bug spray and hair spray