"Nothing Gold Can Stay"

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower; but only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

It is this poem that sends Gladys and me out in the Valley today in search of gold. Forsythia, it is, that startles the eye nearly everywhere. Explosions of yellow, as if someone had dumped piles of daffodils here and there: sometimes a truckload, a wheelbarrow full, a bushel basket.... But this gold is fleeting. The other day I picked a bundle of forsythia from the yard of of Jerald and Tina Streutker who planted the bush years ago. Jerald and Tina live in town now and their grand-nephew Brett De Vries lives in the house today. I thought the Streutkers would like some golden Valley spring from the old homestead, so I mixed in a few pussy willow branches and dropped the bundle by their house in Parkplace, delivering spring as if it were pizza. We had a nice visit and they seem to be doing well, I believe.

So Gladys and I peddled about, seeking the cheerful splashes of yellow blossoms, hunting for gold in the Valley. If you do not have forsythia in your yard, you're denied spring. Add this Midas touch to your landscaping design and next spring reap its gold!

Note: Click on the forsythia link and see a poem that transforms a forsythia bush into words.

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