My husband and I took a Mississippi road trip this past Saturday through Lee, Lafayette, and Yalobusha Counties. The sun was shining, and it was an absolutely perfect day – until the wind almost blew us away when we ventured out of our car.
We were not deterred though, as we made our way to Water Valley for the classic car and truck show, which was part of the inaugural Casey Jones Blues Fest. We just bundled up with an extra layer or two of clothing, and it was well worth the effort.
Upon arrival, my husband made his way directly toward the antique cars and trucks, while I grabbed a delicious cinnamon latte from the sweet ladies at The Magnolia Coffee Company and strolled along Main Street, shopping with the various welcoming vendors (It never ceases to amaze me just how friendly Mississippians really are).
Despite the windy chill, I was greeted at every booth with a smile, some great conversation, and lots of beautiful, handcrafted items. Of course, pottery is my weakness, but I made it out of Water Valley without depleting my pocketbook. That, in and of itself, was a miracle.
Then, as we headed back toward Oxford for lunch on The Square, we witnessed another miracle of epic proportions, considering how cold we had been all morning.
As we headed north on Mississippi Highway 7, I spotted two (yes, two) dogwood trees in full bloom.
Now, granted, those tiny blossoming beauties were nestled down in a hollow (or holler, as my grandmother would have said) on the western side of the road. So, I know their growing situation was probably even a little more favorable than trees on the opposite side of the highway.
But still … I saw two dogwood trees in full bloom on March 23, in Lafayette County, Mississippi (Thankfully, my shouts of joy did not run my husband off the road and into that holler).
“What’s the big deal?” you ask.
The big deal, my dear friends, is that dogwood blooms are the official signal of spring. Just ask any Mississippian of a ripe old age, and they will testify to this truth, passed down from generation to generation.
Forget the weatherman, forget the almanac, and forget those aching joints. My grandmother said that when the dogwoods finally bloom, winter is truly over, and springtime is here.
But before sitting down to write about my miraculous sighting, I decided to do a little research into this tidbit of Southern folklore, and I learned a lot.
Some people say the name of this small, flowering tree came from the Cherokee. Other historians believe it goes back to colonial times because the tree does produce edible fruit, but it was not considered decent enough to even give to the dogs.
Whatever the case, Christians loved the hardy little tree because of its cross-shaped flower. It was even said that ever since Christ was crucified on a cross made of dogwood beams, the tree was destined to never grow large enough to produce a cross again.
Of course, our dogwood tree is not a native of the Holy Land, but the story may have started because the dogwood usually blooms each year right around the time of the Easter celebration of Jesus’ resurrection.
And that thought brings me right back to my miraculous find on Saturday’s car trip to Water Valley.
Since Easter falls a bit early this year, I did not expect to see any dogwoods blooming along our route. And even though my kids and I have always made a year-round game of looking out the car windows to spot these distinctive trees, I was truly shocked to see those blossoms in the third week of March.
Now, I know. I know. We may have more cold nights in the next month or so, and the odds are we will also have some of our infamous Mississippi storms over the next few weeks. But I am banking on my grandmother’s knowledge.
For those two, brave little, blooming dogwood trees over in that leaf-littered holler of those red clay hills of Lafayette County testify to my grandmother’s truth: Spring is here to stay.
