JOY ALONG THE WAY: RAINS, WORMS, AND DREAMS OF SUNFLOWERS

The equinoctial rainstorm came early this year and in the night. I was thunder-awakened and stirred sleepily, trying to remember if I'd left anything on the porch to get wet. Was there a cushion left in the swing? Was the lid to the 10-gallon bucket of sunflower seeds on tightly? Imagine 10 gallons of sunflower seeds sprouting

The friendly sound of the rain lulled me to sleep again but not before I'd thought there would be worms on the sidewalks in the morning, another seasonal marker. The worms didn't have to go very far down into the ground this winter to sustain life. I'm not sure the ground ever froze more than a half-inch.

It was still raining at dawn, so I had to take my umbrella with me as I went to look for earthworms. They were there. Living high in the ground this winter and possibly not expecting an early soaking rain, they had to scramble hurriedly to the top to get oxygen. At least that is what the scientists think. Makes sense. Maybe that is where we get the expression, "coming up for air."

I hadn't gone 10 feet until I counted six big, long, stretched-out worms. Stretching out is another thing they do to get more oxygen. They've got a brain, and they can do something humans can't do. Cut them in two and they can grow a new tail.

There were early morning joggers passing by. Rain makes no difference to them. They are friendly and lest they ask me if I'd lost something I didn't do a whole inventory of the sidewalks and driveway, but wandered around like a lunatic in the rain. The joggers would understand that. Counting worms, maybe they wouldn't.

I enjoy the blending of the seasons -- not quite winter, not quite spring, but the going forward in the cycle. Here was the equinoctial rainstorm, the worms. Doves and cardinals have already been making nice spring sounds and a few robins are tuning up, but I still expect to see a snow when the daffodils are in bloom. It happens almost as regularly as the rainstorms and return of the martins.

Because I was out just a'walkin' in the rain, it seemed to be a good time to walk around the premises to see what else was leaning forward, seasonwise. The little green "cabbages" of the Frog's Tongue house leek have broken through the ground. Scooping away the yellowed, frostbitten leaves of the hollyhocks, there was the green core of new, healthy looking leaves. A whole new patch of them is going to bloom this season. I wonder what color they will be. The lilac buds are fat. I can't tell yet which are going to be blossoms of green leaves. Mostly green leaves I suspect. The bush is stingy with flowers.

Coming back up the walk, I inadvertently stepped on a stretched-out earthworm. Because it still wiggled when I took my weight off, I nudged it off onto the grass where it would have a chance to recuperate, be protected from a robin and eventually able to aerate its portion of the yard.

I've heard two flocks of wild geese fly over. Seems early. I couldn't see them, but followed their wild honking coming from the southwest skies, across the Park, and on into northeast regions. Again, the season leaning forward.

My new chicken catalog has come. It is as welcome as the seed catalogs, although I don't plan to order any chicks, or seeds either for that matter. Not at the present at least, but sometimes I dream of having two big, handsome, Rhode Island Red roosters in a far corner of the back yard. Their cheerful time-to-get-up pre-dawn calls would come drifting in my bedroom window. Be worth the fine, if there is one. And I could turn a portion of the back yard into a sunflower patch to feed all those cardinals I'm expecting and make use of the sprouted seeds in case I don't get the lid to the sunflower bucket on tightly.

Another possibility. I have a drainage problem in a corner of my yard. I could dig a pond, raise big, fat mosquitoes for the purple martins. Ah, the possibilities with the advent of a new season.

REJOICE!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.