Changes in season mirrors song lyrics

Allow me to introduce you to one of my favorite song lyrics:

“Winter’s in labor and soon will give birth to the spring.”

I love words and I especially relish a writer’s thought process in combining simple words into something that’s special, in this case, for me unforgettable. Such is the case with that line from “Angeline,” a song penned decades ago by the late Mickey Newbury.

Although he never became a household name, Newbury was revered in the Nashville recording industry because of his song-writing ability. He did get a touch of glory in the Waylon Jennings’ hit song, “Lukenbach, Texas,” which contains this line: “Between Hank Williams' pain songs and Newbury's train songs …” Yep, that’s a reference to Mickey Newbury.

“Angeline” was the first track of Newbury’s 1969 album, “Looks Like Rain.” I found that album years after its release in a bargain bin, probably at the long-closed Woolworth’s dime store on Broadway in downtown Lincoln. I had never heard of the artist and bought the album on a whim. It didn’t disappoint. The incredible song writing and vocal delivery by Newbury on this piece of vinyl sent me on a search for more albums by this artist. Suffice it to say, I ended up with quite a few, and now have many copies in the CD format. Most came from stores’ bargain bins of “cut-out” records, meaning they weren’t in very high demand or were out of print. But I love them all.

I love them partly because of that lyric: “Winter’s in labor and soon will give birth to the spring.” It comes echoing through my mind every year around this time, possibly because those simple words so accurately describe the roller-coaster changing of the seasons this time of year in central Illinois.

Last weekend was a prime example. Saturday was cloudy, rainy and too chilly for my liking. But those labor pains of winter were intense on Sunday and again on Monday when the sun came out and the mercury kissed the 70-degree mark.

The spring-like weather sent me into a mini-frenzy with long-awaited outdoor chores waiting to be tackled. First on the list was a major cleanup of autumn’s leaves from the big pin oak tree in our backyard. It’s a lovely tree and by far the most majestic one in our one-third acre residential lot. But like pin oaks everywhere, mine refuses to kiss its leaves goodbye in autumn. It takes winter’s first very wet and wind-blown snow to coax those pin oak leaves to the ground. That usually means waiting until the first days of spring to rake them up.

After the leaves were finally picked up and hauled to the garden to be used as mulch and compost, my attention turned to that very garden. Last fall, I planted garlic cloves in one of my raised beds and covered them with a heavy layer of straw for winter protection. I had been checking this bed for signs of new life for a couple of weeks, but had yet to spot a single green stem of garlic emerging. It turns out, I was a bit too generous with my straw mulch last fall, so I removed all but about an inch of it. Doing so made it possible to see many yellow sprouts of new garlic emerging. A few days later, the yellow sprouts are quickly turning to green, as they should.

I also decided it was time – maybe a little past time – to get my onion plants in the ground. I order my plants every winter from a large farm in Texas, which specializes in onion plants followed by a second crop of cantaloupe. I had ordered two bunches and requested they be delivered between March 1 and March 15. I’ve learned over the years that the earlier you can get onion plants into the ground, the better the chances are to raise some darn big onions.

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In all, I ordered 150 plants in two bunches. One bunch was a variety called Patterson, which is a fine onion for long-term storage through the winter. The other bunch contained three different varieties – red onions, white onions and yellow onions.

Why, I wonder at the start of each gardening season, do I order so many onion plants? I’m the only one in our household who eats onions. My wife Suzi insists they don’t agree with her digestive processes, and I certainly don’t lay claim to consuming 100-plus bulbs of onions in a year’s time. Besides, I don’t have ideal storage facilities to keep that many onions over a long period of time.

I remember one year when I had a very successful onion crop taking a bunch to the local food pantry. They were quite appreciative as they are when I take them some surplus tomatoes, zucchini and sweet corn. Mainly, most of excess onions goes to my sister Becky, who lives north of Lincoln in the Union neighborhood.

Becky and her two daughters are excellent cooks, or kitchen mechanics as The Old Man called women folk who knew their way around a cook stove. That’s because Becky learned how to cook from my mom. Yes, my mom, the same woman who my wife claimed put onions into every dish she cooked, including her world-class chocolate cakes and pies. (No, she really didn’t. That was merely Suzi’s exaggerated observation of my mom’s kitchen habits.)

Becky and her household could probably consume 100-plus onions in short order, because, just like my mom, my sister loads up most of her wonderful kitchen creations with onions. So, to my sister, I issue an alert: About half of my onion plants are in the ground.

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After taking care of the onions last Sunday, Suzi and I undertook one of spring’s dreaded chores. We removed the leaf net from our above-ground swimming pool. It was filled to the brim with soaked and stagnant-smelling leaves from the nearby pin oak tree.

That concluded our first day of early spring chores. Monday was another warm, sunny day and I brought in a small load of firewood into the garage because the forecast was calling for a damp, chilly spell. Sure enough, spring came crashing down on Tuesday and again on Wednesday as I write this.

It’s worth noting that only minutes ago, I took a break from writing this and stepped outside on our backyard deck. It’s equally worth noting that nary a sound could be heard coming from winter’s maternity ward.

Dan Tackett is a retired managing editor of The Courier. He can be reached at dtackett@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Lincoln Courier: Change in season sparks memories of song lyrics