THE SKY ABOVE
Moon's in her waning phase this week.
Old-timers would tell you that's the time to plant your root crops. Potatoes. Carrots. Onions. The energy's pulling downward, they said. Into the earth. Into the bulb.
The Lyrid meteor shower is warming up overhead, running through mid-month. If you're up before dawn — and if you're Appalachian, there's a decent chance you are — look northeast. You might see a streak or two. No equipment required. Just your eyes and the dark.
THE GROUND BENEATH
The old rule was simple: don't plant your corn until the oak leaves are the size of a mouse's ear. No app. No soil thermometer. Just a man squinting at a tree.
Walk out your door this week and look at the oaks. They'll tell you where you stand.
And if you want the peppers to have some fire to them — plant them when you're mad. I'm not saying that works. I'm just saying my grandmother's peppers could peel paint off a barn door.
WHAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK IN HISTORY
April 5, 1614. Pocahontas — daughter of the chief of the Powhatan confederacy — married English colonist John Rolfe in Jamestown, Virginia. The marriage kept the peace between settlers and the Powhatan tribe for several years.
A diplomat in a deerskin dress. History doesn't give her nearly enough credit.
April 6, 1896. The modern Olympics were held for the first time since being banned 1,500 years ago. Two hundred forty-one athletes from fourteen nations competed across forty-three events.
Fifteen hundred years. That's not a hiatus. That's a near-death experience.
April 9, 1865. The two generals met shortly after noon at the home of Wilmer McLean in the village of Appomattox Court House, Virginia. Lee's surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia to Ulysses S. Grant hastened the conclusion of the Civil War.
161 years ago this week.
Grant told his men not to celebrate. Not to fire their guns. Not to taunt the men who'd just laid down their rifles and were about to start the long walk home.
Think about that the next time somebody tells you winning ugly is fine.
April 10, 1912. The RMS Titanic set sail on its maiden voyage from Southampton, England, destined for New York City.
She had five days left.
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April 11, 1968. President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act of 1968, prohibiting discrimination in the sale, rental, and financing of housing.
A week after Martin Luther King was killed in Memphis.
History doesn't pause for grief. It just keeps filing paperwork.
APPALACHIAN SIGNS & SAYINGS
For what they're worth. And sometimes they're worth quite a bit.
Never go barefoot till the first of May, no matter how warm it is. Blind Pig and The Acorn
My mother said that. So did hers. Science might argue. My knees agree.
A bird tapping on a window means death is near. Rocking an empty chair can bring spirits into a house. Echoes of Appalachia
I don't know about spirits. But I know that if a bird hits my window, I'm looking both ways for three days.
Planting peppers when you're mad makes them grow hotter. Blind Pig and The Acorn
Already mentioned this one. Worth repeating. File it under: Things That Might Be True.
WEATHER PROVERB OF THE WEEK
"If it thunders on Easter, it brings good crops of corn and hay."
If you are reading this Sunday, today is Easter.
Did you hear thunder?
I'm asking for my garden.
A WORD FROM THE PORCH
In Kentucky, we go from drab brown to glorious Technicolor in a matter of a few weeks.
That's not poetry. That's just what happens.
The redbud is out. The dogwood's thinking about it. The air smells like mud and possibility, which is honestly not a bad combination.
The gardeners didn't look at a paper calendar to decide when the soil was warm enough. They looked at the trees.
Maybe we've been looking at the wrong things all along.
Go look at a tree this week.
It knows something.
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