I so love the fact that winter is almost over and each day brings us a little closer to really experiencing the beauty of spring. I especially love hearing the birds sing in the mornings. The song of one in particular, the mourning dove, immediately transports me back in time to a happy and peaceful recurring event in my childhood.
My maternal grandmother lived here in town in the same house my mother grew up in from a pre-teen on up. Once in awhile I would have the great pleasure and honor of staying overnight with her. This was almost always in the summer months and I enjoyed sleeping next to an open window, in the same room and same bed that my mother slept in as a child. That fact made the experience even sweeter to me. I remember the cool crisp sheets smelling so fresh from Grandma hanging them outside on the line to dry in the sunshine. I remember standing at my mother’s dresser and admiring the vintage matching set of brush, comb and little ‘doo dad’ holder — usually filled with the hairpins my mother must have used to anchor her French twist. I remember Grandma always fixing the best scrambled eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. They were wonderful because she scrambled them in the bacon grease and then added her secret ingredient that made them impossible to duplicate, no matter how many times I tried …. her love. But perhaps what I remember most is waking up on a warm summer morning to the sun streaming in that window and the sweet soft sound of a pair of mourning doves who apparently had a nest close by. Some people find their ‘cooing’ song rather sad. I think because of all of the above good memories surrounding it and just feeling so loved and secure at Grandma’s, I find their ‘lovesong’ to be very calming and beautiful.
So this morning when I heard one outside my kitchen window I so enjoyed the ensuing walk down memory lane that it evoked. Signs of spring … come at last.