Covid Journal, Day 33: Redbud Winter

Michelle of It's a Small Town Life! blog reminded me of what this weather is called: Redbud Winter.

at the top of our driveway.

It has been cold, cold, and more cold. This morning when we got up at 7:30am it was 36 degrees by our weather station. We usually accept what the station says even though it seems to be off by about 3 degrees--probably due to where we have the sensor unit. Fortunately there was no frost or freeze last night, even with the cold. We covered my little greenhouse, the clematis vine, the new pink peony I planted last year, and a few other things, but I was sure many things would be bit by a freeze as the radio was predicting. But somehow we stayed just warm enough to avoid it. Yay!

I feel sure that those at a lower elevation did not fare as well. We are fortunate up here on the hill; the cold settles into the hollows and valleys and those areas usually have frost later into the spring than we do. The only exception seems to be along the Ohio River, where the river air keeps the frost at bay, so farmers over there may well already have tomato plants in the ground.

The redbuds have been putting on quite a display this year. I have not harvested any to make jelly or to add to salads this year, but they are good for both things. Maybe I'll pick some tomorrow to make jelly. It was good, and such a pretty color when I made it before.

When I was a girl I had my own flower garden in a side yard of our house. It was a shady area as the houses were quite close together and that part of the yard ran north and south so the sun was blocked out most of the day. My garden didn't do very well; actually, I suppose it was a spring garden, for several reasons. For one, I only had an interest in it in the spring. As the weather warmed up I had other things to do, like bike-riding, roller skating, walks around the block, or work things like weeding my mother's flowers in the front yard, working in the family vegetable garden, and housework.

But my little garden was under a redbud tree, and the family called it "Sue's tree." I had lilies of the valley, Virginia bluebells, some daffodils, and that is actually all I can remember being in the garden. The bluebells were my favorite; they were hardy plants that seemed to survive despite neglect and the trampling feet of little children who had to step on them to be able to climb the redbud.

From the tree we could see into our neighbor's windows. The Renaldus lived next door: Miss Mary who worked for the government somewhere, Uncle Riley who passed away after we'd lived there only a few years (I sometimes wonder if the shock and noise of so many children next door hastened his demise), and their mother, Mrs. Renaldu. Miss Mary was usually away from home--her boyfriend Francis lived some miles away and took care of his mother, so when she was off on the weekends Miss Mary went to visit him. Uncle Riley was a quiet, lean man who wore bib overalls, long sleeves even in summer, and a straw hat as he pushed his high-wheel cultivator through the garden.

We rarely saw the mother. She seemed to spend all of her time in the house. The front porch had been enclosed at some point so she never sat outside. The family had chickens and I think beehives, and the most glorious assortment of fruits, everything from gnarly apples to red raspberries, yellow cherries, peaches, strawberries, grapes...their place was a veritable Garden of Eden. I remember the azaleas that grew along the wall of their home that faced my flower garden. They were huge, full of extravagant blooms in April and May.

I'm not sure why we wanted to look in their windows. But we did, and made mighty efforts to climb high enough in the redbud to do so. Our efforts usually earned a dubious reward, though--because old Mrs. Renaldu would see us and call Mom on the phone to report that we were in the tree again. And we'd be in trouble because we'd bothered the neighbors. To be fair, the reason for the call to Mom was because Mrs. Renaldu was worried we would fall. But to us, it seemed like she just wanted to spoil our fun.

I have many redbuds on my land now, and this one I actually grew very carefully from a seed. I still love this early-blooming tree. And I always remember the Renaldus and our house on East Quarry Street when I see my West Virginia trees in bloom.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.