When Lilacs Last In Dooryard Bloomed

When Lilacs Last in Dooryard Bloomed
And other Poems of Spring

I never got absorbed by the poems of Walt Whitman, finding the train of sound and thought a little too convoluted for me, but I admire him for the occasional turn of phrase that can stick in the mind for a life time. The title of his poem in memory of Abraham Lincoln is such a phrase, brought to attention every year at this time as the lilacs bloom and perfume the air with their sweet fragrance.

“Natures First Green is Gold” Robert Frost wrote. That too I remember every springtime as the trees gradually push the gold and green up the mountain sides around our farm. I can almost recite it by heart as I begin first pasture mowing on the tractor. Frost is a fellow I can get a handle on; I find his poems full of wit and intelligence. He was my mother’s favorite, I’m sure, and I am much like her.

Back in my younger days I use to drive around in an old red pick-up truck – a 1948 Ford – and painted on the side was ‘Tim Hulings – Poet, Gardener, Philosopher’. By those three avocations I’d still define myself. None of the three have ever brought me any monetary reward, but the music of words, the poetry of a garden in bloom and the satisfaction of a cohesive thought remain much more satisfying than the silent addition of the direct deposit from my ‘real’ job.

There is a wisteria vine out the bedroom window. It is an aggressive animal that spreads relentlessly. It takes constant pruning to keep it in bounds and for 51 ½ weeks of the year it is more work than it is worth. I have attached a picture to explain why the ½ week makes the rest of the year worthwhile.