There is nothing like April in Kentucky.
Cerulean skies lit up with crimson cardinals. Verdant fields of green dotted with the glossy black frolic of new calves. Sunshine scattered across homesteads in both city and country, materializing briefly in the ubiquitous daffodil (although jonquil is more fulfilling to both write and speak.)
Perfect weather for both running and baseball (what else is there?!) and for early morning coffees on the porch. We get dizzy in air filled with the scent of fresh, rich dirt, and newly mown grass. We look for both dandelions and baby copperheads with equal ferocity. We watch for sunrise on Easter morning and for tornadoes every afternoon.
But it is Kentucky’s humble poet Jesse Stuart (undeservedly content in Wendell Berry’s shadow) who offers to all a true insider’s view of April in Kentucky:
Hold on to April; never let her pass!
Another year before she comes again
To bring us wind as clean as polished glass
And apple blossoms in soft, silver rain.
Hold April when there’s music in the air,
When life is resurrected like a dream,
When wild birds sing up flights of windy stair
And bees love alder blossoms by the stream.
Hold April’s face close to yours and look afar,
Hold April in your arms in dear romance;
While holding her look to the sun and star
And with her in her faerie dreamland dance.
Do not let April go but hold her tight,
Month of eternal beauty and delight.
Enjoy your April, wherever you may be. We’re saving you a spot on the porch.