IT'S SPRING SPRUCE UP AGAIN AND AGAIN AND...

In preparation for the annual spring Spruce up, Clean up, Make-the-Town-Shine campaign, I walked slowly around my digs to see what needed to be spruced, cleaned and made to shine. There is painting to be done, high up painting. Hasn't that been done again and again and again? Many things need to be hauled away or propped up. Deja vu? Some loosened shingles need to be tacked down, or maybe a new roof needs to be contemplated. It will be No. 4. Some bare places in the lawn need reseeding.

A funny dark green circle of grass, smack in the front yard, needs to be studied again. Last year the circle appeared as a burned place on the lawn, i.e. the grass in the circle turned brown as if some heated thing had landed there. No one seemed to have a clue what caused it. This year that circle is back, greener than ever. Did a flying saucer silently land there when I wasn't looking? Did someone throw some fertilizer in a circle? If so, why? Was there some mysterious source of energy from above focused on the spot?

In midwinter I heard a TV program about these rings appearing in corn fields and wheat fields out west in America, on the moors of Scotland and the downs of England. It made for interesting surmises. I even go stand in the circle sometimes to see if the burst of energy is contagious. It would help me a lot in this annual cleanup if I could be so infected again, again and again.

The little red wagon has become an appendage to my right arm, the leaf rake to my left. Held-over leaves from the pin oak and saw-toothed oak sneak under the hedges and hide for the winter, making wonderful leafy beds for wooly worms, lady bugs, beetles and other creatures seeking relative warmth, or to start a new family. Even old T.T. could have buried himself there for the winter.

As I inspected the premises a roster of names came to mind those who had something to do with the building of the little red brick house. There was Stovall and Drury, Mosley, Hope, Birk, Missouri Utilities, E.C. Robinson, Clyde Harris, Kasten, etc. etc. It was middle-depression days and one made separate contracts with builders, suppliers and financiers so as to get the best bargain.

Edward and I had applied for an FHA loan (4% interest) from the old First National Bank. It was so long in being processed that, tired of waiting, we told the bank to forget it, we would app~ly at the Building and Loan, located then at the corner of Main and Themis. The FHA loan was approved in two days!

Foeste, Sunny Hill and Pioneer Orchards treed and bushed the yard. Logan too. (I must keep up with the current trend of making verbs of nouns). Now, added to this string of helpers down through the years are Schippers and Roussel~. They keep the little red house and its environs presentable.

It has been the butterflies, honeybees, rabbits, squirrels, occasional 'possums and raccoons that have come for free to add the finishing touches and put a fancy curlicue around the American Dream. And the birds! Right now two mockingbirds or either conversing or having a contest to see which one can come up with ~a more~ different trill of notes. I've heard their whippoorwill, Bob White and catbird calls within the last five minutes, in addition to many other short combination~~~~~ of notes. One~ mocker is in the autumn olive hedge, the other, on the other side of the house in the Bradford pear. I still call it the Bradford pear even though after it blew down, some of it came back from the Bradford pear roots, ~~~~~~~~~~~~some from whatever the Bradford was grafted to, probably the Bartlett. Anyway, it still blooms, smells spicy new in the spring and holds mockingbirds.

The driveway ne~eds something done to it. Sweetgum roots have heaved it upward, breaking it apart. Grass grows in the cracks. The myriad of old stuff in the garage should be dragged down to the curb. The weather vane needs oiling. The old stump of the wild cherry tree won't go away. Maybe it would just be easier for me to lie down with the trash at the curb and let them haul me away, the painting, driveway, weather vane be hanged!

~Oh, no, no. I'd miss the coming of the humming birds, the fledglings of the purple martins, the yellow and black swallowtail butterflies, friends calling at the door, "Anyone home?" I'd even miss the appearance of old Stripe the snake. As some long ago newspaper columnist said, "I want to hang around to see how the whole mess comes out."

REJOICE!