Jim Bradshaw: Spring puts Louisiana's beauty on display

My grandfather always claimed that after God created the Garden of Eden He thought, “That’s a good first try, but I can do better,” and then created south Louisiana.
That’s easy to believe at this time of year, when everything comes back to life.
It is especially true in years like this one, when azaleas, and bridal wreath, and wisteria, and flowering trees magically color the countryside, all at the same time; yellow-tops and red clover and plants that are considered weeds at any other time of the year guide us along the roadways; when, hidden in the grass, clover, wild violets, oxalis, and whole families of tiny flowers put on their own little show.
Louisiana iris will be blooming in the wetlands in just a few weeks, and I consider them further evidence of Grandpa’s claim.
I am told that they are the only plant — at least in these parts — that blooms naturally in every color of the rainbow.
They are native to south Louisiana, so that makes us a little bit special.
I’ll admit, I am not sure just what the Creator had in mind when He decided to bedeck oak trees with those messy little things that I call “yellow wigglies,” and botanists call catkins.
That’s one of the mysteries that we’ll have to discuss once we’ve passed through the Pearly Gates. I suspect they are evidence of God’s sense of humor. (Another is ears. I think He’d just about finished fashioning Adam when He grabbed two more handfuls of primal mud and plopped them onto either side of his head — one just a bit lower than the other — took a look at what He’d done, sat back, and laughed out loud.)
Spring days in south Louisiana pull us out of the house and make it absolutely necessary to at least putter around in the yard and, of course, to become serious about the spring ritual of tending the vegetable garden.
(Part of the Garden of Eden claim is that we can grow practically anything here.)
I keep a much smaller garden than I once did.
It came to me late in life that it was a bit ridiculous for me to do a lot of weeding and hoeing to grow more vegetables than we can possibly use, especially since we can’t even give away the extras because everyone we know also has grown some extra that they’re trying to give to us.
But I can’t give up the spring rite altogether.
Some people say it is a spiritual rite, since so much of it is done on our knees. That might be part of its attraction for me.
It’s a thought that comes back to me each year, when I reread parts of a gardening book that was already old and battered when I first read it as a kid. The book ("Garden Work: A Book for Garden Lovers, "Dodge Publishing, New York, 1913) was written by William Good, who was for many years the head gardener at an estate in England.
The English climate is much different than ours, so a lot of his advice doesn’t apply to south Louisiana.
Some parts of the book are outdated.
Other parts of it have become fashionable again because in his day there was no alternative to natural, organic gardening.
I read it now mostly because it includes passages such as this:
“One cannot cultivate the soil, sow seeds, tend seed beds, or watch the growth of plants without becoming conscious of a great unseen power, a power undefinable, yet manifestly present to all. … When we look more minutely into the construction of plants, examine the different parts under a microscope.
;Study … the relation between the parts, we cannot but wonder at the perfect adjustment of each and every part, all so intricate, and yet so perfect.”
That’s something to contemplate while we’re on our knees tending our plants and flowers.
Particularly at this time of year when all things spring alive again and we can defy anyone to show us a prettier place than this.
Spring is here, and the Easter message blooms all around us.
A collection of Jim Bradshaw’s columns, Cajuns and Other Characters, is now available from Pelican Publishing. You can contact him at jimbradshaw4321@gmail.com or P.O. Box 1121, Washington LA 70589.