The sights, sounds and smells of a new spring

Spring arrived in our part of the world back in -- when was it? Late January? Early February? Trees budded. Flowers bloomed.

Then it snowed. And tornadoes struck.

The daylong spate of winter was the best kind where beautiful snowflakes dance over clear streets too warm to accumulate any drifts.

Then back to the first official day of spring, which was Monday, and it felt more like summer.

Go figure.

The weather will sort itself out, eventually. Or not. This is Southeast Missouri, after all.

With the arrival of spring, both official and unofficial, there are certain tags they keep us up to date with full-time reality checks.

For example, there are the sights of spring. You watched the daffodils bloom. Now you see the pink aura in every redbud tree. The forsythia bushes are still gold enough, especially in bright sunlight.

And there are the sounds of spring. Who hasn't heard the hum -- or roar, depending on your point of view -- of the first lawnmower outings of the season?

And if you're lucky enough to be someone who can scoff at springtime allergies, you can actually open your windows and let in the refreshing breezes.

The rest of us, of course, don't even have screens on our windows, because they are never open. Never ever. The mowers are muted for us.

Another sound of spring is the hacking of humans who, for one reason or another, simply cannot shake the nasal drips and congested lungs that linger and linger and linger.

It's as if some cough-inducing micro-organism has been perched on every tree limb or blade of grass waiting to jump into your nasal passages at your first inhalation of what you hoped would be a whiff of spring freshness.

If you want an indicator of what's waiting out there to trigger sneezing and blowing into handkerchiefs, just drive around most any neighborhood and look at the mold plantations on the exterior walls of the houses of entirely respectable folks.

Pardon me. My eyes are watering.

One of my favorite sounds of spring is produced by immigrants who arrive with warmer weather: birds that are smart enough to head south before winter arrives.

In particular, I am fond of the prodigious mockingbirds, which have so many tunes in their repertoire that is easy to be dazzled by their musical proclivity.

I'll swear some mockingbirds spend the winter in New Orleans. They come back to Missouri with musical adaptations of the best that zydeco has to offer. Listen. Can't you year it?

Monday morning the corner of Themis and Fountain streets was taken over by the cacophony of mockingbirds strutting their best stuff. Mockingbirds are fantastic imitators, and soon one buff bird was repeating my whistling, adopting the same rhythm as the one coming from my human lips. We made quite a duet. The mockingbird, of course, was the star.

As for the smells of spring-- well, I'll leave you to your own thoughts as to why "spring" anything is the most popular scent for shampoos, body washes and laundry detergents. Spring sells. It's as simple as that.

With the mild winter we've had, summer could be here before March's lambs have all wandered off to greener pastures.

Enjoy this spring. It's free, you know.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.