Some tidbits from that stack of notes to myself

Fruitcakes, downtown golf and urban hunting of squirrels, raccoons and deer all are noble causes, but when the azaleas and dogwoods bloom, it is Charleston, the Prettiest Small Town in America, that deserves all the attention.

It's hard to time an event like Charleston's azalea and dogwood festival months in advance, because of Southeast Missouri's fickle weather. But the festival, held this past weekend, enjoyed gorgeous weather on Saturday.

Because spring is taking its time in arriving, the blooms were not at their peak. I'm telling you, if you want to see for yourself, this weekend would be a good time to go to Charleston, which is still the Prettiest Small Town in America, even if the festival is over.

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One of the highlights for my wife and me during the Charleston festival is the Piano Praise concert in the lovely First Baptist Church.

Several grand pianos are played beautifully by a dedicated group of pianists from all over Southeast Missouri under the direction of the indomitable Betty Hearnes.

This year, concertgoers had a special treat. The pianists and pipe organist were joined by legendary Cape Girardeau trumpeter Jerry Ford. It was enough to make the small hairs on your neck stand straight up.

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One of the things that pains me when I go to the Charleston festival is to see that one house with the wisteria vines across the front and huge clumps of blossoms hanging from the vines.

Over on one of the main thoroughfares is another dazzling wisteria display: an ancient vine has taken over a well-aged tree, turning the whole thing into a purple mass soaring high into the air.

The wisteria vines on the house are carefully tended. The ones in the tree are entirely on their own. Both bloom profusely.

So why won't that ornery wisteria on the trellis in my yard bloom? I've tried the careful tending approach. I've tried letting it do its own thing. Nothing.

A lazy, good-for-nothing forsythia hedge that failed to produce a single blossom for several years found out what can happen in short order. Bye-bye forsythia.

I have spoken to the cranky wisteria. I have pointed to the bare spot where the forsythia used to be. I have made myself perfectly clear, and I have given fair and ample warning.

This year, the wisteria either shapes up or ships out.

I mean it.

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With our on-and-off spring, some trusty bloomers have put on quite a show. The hedge of flowering quince across the street from our living room windows, for example, has been spectacular.

Our volunteer redbuds, however, barely bloomed before putting on leaves. Last year they were a mass of deep pink blossoms.

We drove to Trail of Tears State Park Sunday where we were expecting to see masses of both redbud and dogwood. Not so. There were some of both, but not like we are used to seeing.

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My wife and I have, in the wake of the town vote against urban deer hunting, installed a feed plot for our white-tailed friends in our front yard. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Others might call our feed plot a raised bed suitable for tomato plants and some of our favorite flowers. We know better, of course. Deer love green tomatoes.

Friends have suggested a variety of ways to keep the deer out of our new garden plot. Some of them might actually work. We just wish they were legal.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian. He resides in Cape Girardeau.