Spring has sprung

I’ve always thought that while some parts of the country have colorful, beautiful autumns, this part of Missouri is at its best in the spring.

The scenery looks almost like a watercolor painting with its flowering white trees, redbuds, pink tulip poplars and bright sunshiny forsythia.

After a cold winter that can best be described as “not as bad as last year’s but bad enough,” spring tentatively stuck its toe in the water and drew back a couple of times. Not quite ready to commit to being here, but occasionally spring would show up with some warmth and a few dandelions. You knew it was coming, but spring itself wasn’t quite sure when it would come to stay.

There were a few days where a jacket felt comfortable, and the wind made you think twice about any kind of yard work, although the racks of flower and vegetable garden seeds beckoned from garden centers.

But it seems that now spring is here for a while. Flowers have sprouted and bloomed bringing color everywhere. Rain showers surprise us, but after they pass through, the trees and grass are so much greener and the air fresher.

Mornings often start with the buzz of weed whackers and the chugging of lawn mowers. We’ve missed that over the winter, and as time goes on they’ll become annoying, but for now we welcome them. And after the weeds are trimmed and the grass is mowed, there’s that wonderful smell of fresh-cut grass.

And sneezing from the pollen that’s been released, but it’s better than sneezing from the cold, wet winter.

It’s spring! Soon orange traffic cones will sprout up like daylilies alongside the highway. Lime green safety vests will dot the landscape while road crews do their work, some holding bright yellow and red signs that make us pause and take in the scenery of over-tanned road employees who stand in the burning sun seeing how  many cars they can line up before radiators start popping steam.

Spring is newness, rebirth. A reawakening of yard sales, the sudden appearance of mosquitoes buzzing, fat rabbits sampling newborn lettuce, squirrels scampering among the bird feeders.

Before long summer will bring its humidity, the rabbits will have moved on to plump, red tomatoes, and the squirrels might leave us a few peaches on the trees, but for now, there’s nothing like spring.

Deep in the heart of taxes

Much has been made in recent weeks about corporations that move overseas to avoid paying American taxes.

More specifically, these companies that got caught dodging taxes by moving overseas.

One media source or another drew the obvious conclusion that “no one likes paying taxes.”

I can relate. I thought I paid more than my fair share of tax during the last year, but evidently the feds and the state thought otherwise. Instead of moving to the Virgin Islands, where there are no federal taxes and the government there functions about as efficiently as it does on the mainland, I just wrote two hefty checks.

Actually I wouldn’t mind paying taxes if I could have a say in where the money goes.

I’d gladly pay my income taxes if I knew they would go toward research that would make it possible to donate unwanted fat the way one can donate blood. Or develop pharmaceuticals that don’t bankrupt the patient and produce more side effects than medical benefits.

I declined to donate to the supposedly non-partisan presidential campaign fund this year, but if there were a fund that would make it a felony to say “reach out” instead of “call,” I’d give to that.

I’d also be generous in my support of any committee that makes it mandatory to know when to use an apostrophe. I’d even consider a donation to any company that hires Americans who can make themselves understood in plain English over the phone.

I’d finance any effort to make it illegal to declaw cats, and dock tails and ears on dogs, force elephants to do stupid tricks in any circus, and keep any wild animal in a cage. I’d support the right to arm bears.

I’d gladly pay taxes to support schools that replaced common core with common sense.

I’d be especially willing to pay taxes if they would go toward re-educating and re-training useless bureaucrats so they could earn an honest living doing something useful, like being full-service gas station attendants, in-store customer service attendants, TV and small appliance repair people, ladies who do alterations, and IRS agents with the fortitude to seek out Al Sharpton and collect what he owes.

But like the parent who caves in to shut the kids up, I just sighed, grumbled a bit, and wrote a couple of checks.

 It’s the American way.