It is spring when Wild Flowers are running wild in the woods, inviting me to chase after them.

Spring has truly indeed come when Ma starts planning and preparing for her garden. First, the area needs to be fertilized with some rich organic fertilizer, hauled from our supply in the barnyard, and then ploughed and cultivated. This is the time of year when Pa decides, with Ma's prompting, to get started with the Spring planting. More fertilizer must be hauled, loads and loads of it; what a Job! This was followed by ploughing, cultivating, and then seeding for oats, barley and then later, corn.

Spring was Easter with hand-painted, hard-boiled hen's eggs to be hunted for, out-of-doors, where the Easter Rabbit was supposed to have laid them. Easter, when we all got dressed in our very best and went to Meeting, to sit quietly for an hour and be told how good we were. After Meeting, we could brag about how many eggs we had for breakfast.

Spring was annual house-cleaning time. Our house would get a good cleaning from top to bottom, once a year. There was a wall-to-wall, loom-woven rag carpet in the living-dining room area, fastened down with hundreds of carpet tacks. It was laid over an underlay of old newspapers. This carpet had to be removed, tack by tack, and hauled out of doors. With a sturdy, old broom, we would sweep and beat this carpet until we were satisfied that it was clean. All in the same day, after washing walls and windows and laying down new newspaper underlay, the carpet would be carried in, laid out and tacked down, tack by tack. The area rug in the parlour, which was not used that much, was vacuumed thoroughly using Ma's newfangled, treadle Carpet Sweeper -- the one she brought with her from "home".

Room by room, the housecleaning would go on, floors, walls, windows, stoves, stove-pipes. It was necessary to take down all the stove-pipes and remove stoves and pipes to the out-of-doors. Here, the pipes would be taken apart, section by section and be cleaned of their soot, by gently tapping. The stoves would be emptied of all ashes and, along with their pipes, repolished with stove blackening until they shone. This equipment would then be stored away where they would keep clean and dry until Fall.

Spring also meant freedom and fun.

Usually, about the first week in May, we would get the urge to heed the call of the budding green marshes, the fresh, running creek, as well as the call of those little frog-people: "Let's go fishing."

We soon had our can filled and were ready to go, the four of us, with our three bamboo poles, fitted with line, hook and an old rusty nut for a sinker. Imagine the picture: four white-haired, barefoot boys, dressed in well-worn, patched, blue denim overalls, with rolled-up bottoms and loose-fitting cotton jersey tops. We skipped happily down the lane, clambered over or through the wire fence, under that spreading butternut tree and down a narrow marshy wilderness trail. We picked our way hurriedly, gingerly through the Skunk Cabbages, the touch-me-nots, Marsh Marigolds and ferns, ever slapping at those perpetual mosquitoes. There was also that added hazard of encountering that silent, slithering, mud-brown water snake. Then we made one last spurt as we jumped over an old rotting log and dashed between two old Willow trees to the creek.

The spot that we arrived at was where the stream made an elbow bend, forming a deep, mysterious pool around the roots of an old tree leaning far over the pool. We would anxiously toss our well-baited lines into this pool of little fishes waiting to be caught. We waited breathlessly for that first little bite. All the while, we kept testing and teasing. Then, after what seemed to be an ageless waiting, jerked hard on the line, hoping to avoid losing the catch. Instead of a big fish, I had hooked the root of the tree, and thereby losing hook, line and sinker. However, we did catch several small fish, just enough for a small taste. So now, it was time to hurry home, over the same hazardous trail we used coming down. We were disappointed, but it was fun, and we would do it again several times throughout the year.

The twenty-fourth of May, when we were all quite young, traditionally, was the time that we had a family fishing outing and picnic, to the Thames River at a spot near Delaware. Our fishing tackle consisted of a large ball of heavy cord of which we made a throw line, or river line. One end was fitted with at least two hooks, sinker and a float. The other end was attached to a stake. When the hooks were properly baited, the line would then be heaved aloft into the river as far as possible. The float would indicate when a fish had been caught. The stake driven into the ground would anchor the line.

Well, we did catch some fish this way. Some were quite worth while talking about. Besides, we all had a good time and lots of experience. I did enjoy exploring the gravelly shores of the river, to find wondrous coloured stones, crayfish shells and driftwood from the spring flooding.

One asks what is the right amount of rain and how much sun? There is no one answer. For most farmers, in my youth, the day's work was planned at sunrise of each day. We usually planned with alternatives in mind.

All growing seeds require rain at the right time along with warmth and sunshine. Calendar dates are not of much importance. Too much rain at certain times hinders the preparation of the soil for the seeds. Also, too much rain will hinder the proper cultivation. Rainfall and warm weather are necessary in the Spring to produce a good yield in the hayfield. However, too much rain at haying time spoils the hay harvesting. So, you see, those farmers were very much dependent on all of the elements of Nature for their livelihood, sustenance and wellbeing.

After the Spring plantings are completed, there may be a lull, a time for reflection and a time to bless that planting and all of the elements of rain and sunshine. Soon, the little seeds will germinate, sending down rootlets into the well-prepared soil and green shoots into the sunlight and oxygen above. In a few weeks they will be demanding attention with the hoe and the cultivator. It is necessary to keep the soil loosened around the plants and to eradicate all those unwanted weeds.

Hoeing was a family activity with us. I remember that we spent many hours with sharpened hoes and horse cultivator in the corn-field, among the potatoes and the turnips and mangle beets, loosening the soil and thinning and weeding, row after row, row after row.

Spring was blossom time, June roses, and red clovers.

Spring was morel hunting in the old orchard among the old brush on a dewy morning.