"Nothing Could Be Finer Than To Be In Carolina in the Morning"

Dogwood in bloom at the "Homestead South"

The winter of 2012-13 refused to release her grip . . . on Layton.

The snow fell steadily for five months. The temperatures lanquished at 25 degrees and lower. The  turtleneck sweaters and corduroy slacks, my standard winter uniform, were worn ad nauseum.  The electric snow shovel and 25 feet of extension cord, ready for momentary use, never left the back porch.

In late March the trees refused to bud, and the flowers remained wrapped in cocoon warmth.  Even the cat became claustrophobic, pacing in front of the door and mewing, yet unwilling to step a paw outdoors . . . kind of like her owner.

With spring stalled on the calendar, the family decided to migrate to the "Homestead South."

My parents established the "Homestead South" upon their retirement 31 years ago. Since then, Jefferson Circle has become the alternate home and vacation spot for the Layton family.

And spring arrives early and lavishly on Jefferson.

The azaleas splash color abundantly with oranges, pinks, whites, and reds, smiling cheerily from every yard. The dogwood's little faces turn upward with a flush in their cheeks and a perky little nose pointed always heavenward. The sweet gum tree drops its prickly fruit across the yard to wake up any flip flop clad pedestrians to the presence of spring. The Carolina wrens sing a reminder, "Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning!"

The salt marsh near Jefferson comes alive. Fiddler crabs dash about brandishing their one large claw menacingly above their heads. Herons and egrets stand statuesque in the marsh, eyes skimming the reeds for edibles.

Spring's warmth lures us to the water and a stroll on the oyster beds. The oyster beds heap themselves above the tide line along the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway and along the salt marsh. They lay bleached and sterile as we crunch our way beside the river in the sun. The oyster beds remind me of Lewis Carroll's poem "The Walrus and the Carpenter." Unconsciously, I recite to the oysters as the Walrus did before devouring them,

 " The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things. 

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings,

 and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings." 

And the pleasure boats leave the marinas and sail  . . . up and down the river, headed for the Atlantic.

Spring arrives in the South - bright, verdant, alive.

"Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning!"  . . . unless, of course, you are blessed to witness the coming alive of the earth a second time . . . when spring finally appears, all gowned and bedecked, and the dogwoods bloom . . .

On Layton.

Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway and salt marsh

Azaleas welcome the Carolina morning.