Full Circle

The last couple of days I have written about the squares of Savannah. I was going to do that today but something has been eating away at me. It is Spring so I know it is planting time back home. The measure of time for me, until this year, has been marked by certain things. Spring, in my mind, isn't about warmer weather and flowers in bloom. It is the dust in the air. The smell of freshly turned dirt as a piece of farm machinery moves through the black soil of home. Tybee Island has its signature smells. The salty scent of the ocean being number one. It is always here. It doesn't mark the passing of seasons. Spring is the smell of dirt. A sweet heady smell that touches me to the depths of my soul. It has always marked Spring. The fall is marked by the smell of harvest. The roar of the corn dryer signals to me the smell of warm corn that goes with it. The dust of soybean harvest has its own smell. Once the crop is in the ground the next marker of time for me is when corn begins to peek through the ground. It spikes up and I always enjoyed the day I could drive by in the car and sees the rows ripple as a drove down the road. It seems like a day or two later the corn is knee high. It happens way before the old farmer saying that it would happen by the 4th of July. We will be back in Illinois in mid June. By then the corn will be head high and the smell of fresh dirt will have long ago faded. It has been replaced for me by the salty sea. While I enjoy both the dirt will always be my favorite.