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Kentucky is calling me home. She does this nearly every spring of my life. I leave and look for new adventures, but when her tree covered mountains start to burst in colors of pale green and the fresh turned dirt of her gardens fill the air with the cleanest smell I have ever known, she calls me home.
Tulips and peonies will bloom soon, the churches and the bars will both fill with people excited to leave the comfort of their homes that have been snow covered for months for conversations about the Lord and basketball. They’ll quickly forget about the hard months they just endured with power outages, broken water pipes and leaky roofs. They’ll share gossip and garden tips but never the secret location of their dryland fish patch.
Floods will wash over the creek banks and give everyone an adrenaline rush as they work to keep the water at bay. Potholes will be patched and proms will be held come rain or shine. Easter Sunday outfits will double as Kentucky Derby outfits and mint juleps will be sipped slowly as everyone savors the flavor until next May.
She’s not perfect, I’m not sure anyone has ever claimed that Kentucky is, but there’s something about her after the winter months that calls to me. I’ll visit her front porch soon and give each blue jay and humming bird a name and swat away the honeybees. Kentucky in the spring is calling me and I’m ready to go enjoy her sweet contradictions.