Forsythia and Springtime

the first forsythia

Every spring when the first forsythia blooms, I think of Mama. She watched for the first forsythia – and we watched with her.

Winters were harsh and cold and often depressing. We pressed through each winter because we knew that since winter was here, spring could not be far behind.

Winter meant snow squalls bringing invisibility to roads. Yet, we had to endure the winter to get to spring. For Mama, winter meant keeping coal in the cellar furnace. It also meant keeping the dirt lane open night after night so she could make it to town the next day.  

The climate – and winters –  in our county were colder than in neighboring towns. When we travelled east to deliver Mama’s homemade bread, we watched for spring and the first forsythia. Mama delighted in the first forsythia; I think it was because those yellow blossoms meant spring was here to stay.

Springtime and Heaven

Mama enjoyed flowers and birds. She enjoyed fresh vegetables from the garden, the laughter of children, and her grown daughters coming home to visit. Mama enjoyed work and order and believed that “things done by halves are never done right.”

I think Mama enjoyed spring – and forsythia – because she knew that, after the winter, comes spring. She knew that after the work and toil of this world, comes Heaven – for those who believe. Mama believed. 

It has been fourteen winters since we buried her body on a cold, blustery, stormy day. Fifteen springtimes have come and gone. Each year, when I see the first forsythia, I think of Mama.

I remember that, after the winter, comes spring. After the toil of this world comes Heaven. After this life. . . eternal spring!