When I was a child, I learned early on when spring was coming. It wasn’t in the soft, warm winds that would begin to blow gently, cutting through the chill, or in the lengthening of days. It was when I was in the car with my dad, and he’d suddenly exclaim “Redbud!”

I have to admit, this made no sense when I was a very small child. He would be gesturing out the window, and I would neither see anything “red” nor “bud”. Just the blur of bare trees and evergreens lining the road.

Eventually I figured out what he was pointing at – a blur of delicate purplish pink blossoms, standing out in stark contrast to the bare grey or dark green trees around it. Sometimes the tree was barely a wisp, but on a grey day, it meant spring was coming.

As I got older, into my middle school years, it became a challenge to see who saw the redbud first. I would be scouring the scenery, looking for any sign of the pale frothy flowers in bloom. Of course now I had the advantage, because I knew what I was looking for, and Daddy was concentrated on driving. But it was a win for both of us when the first redbud was spotted, and it never ceased to lift our spirits.

In the Southeast, following in bloom after the redbud, are the delicate white or pink dogwood trees. Driving down two lane roads with redbud and dogwoods blooming, it would strike one speechless.

It’s been a long, grey, and dismal winter here in the Southeast. I can’t remember a winter where the sun rarely made an appearance for months. We are accustomed to mild sunny days, and a few cold, sunny weeks.

Today, as I was leaving my neighborhood, a flash of colorful petals caught my eye. I pulled my car to a stop, and snapped a picture. Redbud!

I just sent that picture to daddy. His response?

“It’s Spring!!”