OCR Text |
Show r IT MUST BE SPRING I j Dy Grace Schillinger ! i i you waj thinkin' about muking your flower garden bifiger . , . them new roses." "Wait, Oramps!" Gran scuttled away from the window. "I'm coming com-ing out with a pencil." Oramps heard her hurrying out the back door. "Where'll we put the roses, behind the pansy bed?" '"Not the best place If you'd plant some right next to that white picket fence you want around the yard . . . wouldn't that be a right smart place?" Cramps lifted his gnarled hands to point to their property's edge. "Good Ideal Along our white fence would be fine. Shall I write that down?" Gramps saw her begin be-gin to draw a picket fence on the paper. GRAMPS and Davey Grant sat side by side on the lawn seat beneath Gran's kitchen window. They were whittling some perches for bird houses. "Gramps, how do you know It's Spring?" eleven year old Davey asked. "Well, soma folks know it's spring when the grass turns green. Or when the bluebirds fly back from down south Why do you want to know?" Gramps asked. "But. how does stulf know when to slart in growing?" "Reckon it's lessons they learned tn Old Mother Nature's school. At a certain time all the birds and flowers and. animals have a feeling inside 'em; they know they've got a summer's job." Davey smiled. "Now. take wrens, for instance," Gramps went on. "We'll soon behearin' 'em out there In the lilacs. They'll be looking for their favorite house. If we don't have 'em cleaned they'll have extra ex-tra work. We better get busy, Davey Seems like every mother thing on earth likes to get her hoi'ij-cleanin' done early or else . ." "While you're at lt. Gran, Just make another line or two like this . . ." Gramps took the pencil, made a few deft lines and a rustic bird house took form on her paper. "This wren's house Is going to be the best Davey and me ever mad Going to make lots of "em." "Yes, the wrens will soon be here. They'll need lots of houses . . . remember all the babies hatched last summer? Oh, I can hardly wait till the wrens come." She turned toward the house. "I'll go bake some spice cookies. You'll be hungry when you're through with your building." After she'd gone Gramps said softly, "Let's go out to the workshop, work-shop, Davey." "Or else she's madder'n an old wet hen!" Gran's voice came from directly above their heads. "You're right, Gramps! No time better'n right now to get started on that basement!" "We haven't got a basement!" Gramps hollered. "That's just it. You're going to dig it out. I want a big basement for my canned fruit. I want . . ." "Listen, Gran, we've lived here for fifty years and the little fruit cave has done us fine ... besides be-sides . . ." Gramps resumed whittling. whit-tling. "Besides, what about that front porch?" He grinned slyly. "Well, I want that front porch torn off too this spring. Make the house look real modern-like without with-out that old sore thumb sticking out and keeping all the sun from my geraniums. When can you start tearing the porch oiT, Gramps?" "Well, I thought maybe we'd let the front porch go for a spell. Heard "But, Gramps . . ." Davey be gan, "has Gran forgotten all about her remodeling, the basement and all?" "Reckon so Like I said, every mother thing on earth wants to get started on things, come spring." "After you tellin' me all that stuff, Gramps. guess lt must be Spring!" Davey lifted a small brown blrdhouse down from the shelf. "Yep, it must be Spring." And in Gramps' voice was no worry about how he knew. He was once more accepting the miracle that he was permitted to enjoy it. |