While our friends in the North are still shoveling snow, we, Southerners, have declared it to be spring.  In the South, whenever the February page is turned over in the State Farm calendar behind the pantry door, it is spring, regardless of what Punxsutawny Phil or Jim Cantore say.  With spring break being next week, we've started getting serious about the transition.  Dead serious.  Today, on my way to work, I passed a couple of kiddie pools set up in front yards.  I'm telling you.....we don't play.  We get the young'uns swimmin' right out of the chute around here.  Builds character....and immune systems.

We started changing out our closets on March 1....packing away the sweaters and pulling out the flip flops.  Yeah, we know we can't wear white yet and cause our southern grandmothers to turn over in their graves, and sure, we know we have cold weather still left to tackle, but we'll face it bravely and head on in our Chacos and khaki shorts.

Ferns will hang from our porches just as soon as the first shipment arrives even if we have to throw a sheet over them a night or two.  Trampolines have become sun tanning platforms and fishing lines are finally getting wet.  Children change into shorts as soon as they hit the door from school and head outside until they're called for dinner.  Neighbors are coming out of hibernation and wave and reacquaint across the way.  Flapping snowflake flags have been changed over to colorful tapestries of flowers, birds, and sunshine and the daffodils have told the pansies that they've had their turn. 

Footballs and basketballs have fallen to the bottom of garage bins and the clank of aluminum bats ring out through the neighborhood.  The sound of an occasional lawn mower can be heard beating back the clover.  Frogs and birds are stating their opinions again and the smell of charcoal fills the air of Saturday afternoon.  Eyes are peeled for Easter dress contenders.  Baseball games crowd the calendar.  Popsicles make their way back on the grocery list.  Plans for garden planting have been tossed around and the air conditioner and heater take turns doing their thing.  The crape myrtle tips have been pruned and the monkey grass is cut back and we wait. Wait for the seasons with which we, Southerners, feel most comfortable.

We don't know much about shoveling snow or, heaven forbid, driving in it.  We're not too familiar with oil, furnaces, or layering either, but we come from long lines of people, who taught us what to do when the weather is warm.  The people, who worked and sweated in the hot sun, setting trotlines, robbing bee hives, growing watermelons, and gathering eggs.  They tilled and planted and harvested and shelled and shucked and blanched and canned and fished and sewed and cooked and shared....and then they swung and rocked and ate and visited and, through all the generations, some of their teaching made it down to us.    

The door is cracked to the seasons in which we're most productive, most familiar, most at ease, and most at home.  It's time to get back to work doing what we know.

It's springtime in Mississippi, y'all.