You would be a redneck if:
You have flowers planted in a bathroom appliance in your front yard.
You move your refrigerator and the grass underneath it has turned yellow.
You mow your lawn and find a car.
We have sprung forward, and the Spring Equinox has come and gone, but Spring is slow coming to upstate New York this year. And, a Nor’easter is predicted for midweek. Nevertheless, I have been vigilantly looking for signs–crocuses, daffodils, forsythia, anything–of Spring. In fact, the sun does feel different, and, despite the still freezing temperatures, the snow is melting. Slowly.
I walk my dog, Lily, the half mile down the road from our house to Lake Kenozia almost every day. And, I hear the water in the recently frozen stream cascading down the hill. But, still no crocuses, daffodils, or forsythia. Nothing. Except . . . the Redneck Blossoms:
Yesterday, I walked Lily with a garbage bag in hand to harvest . . . the Redneck Blossoms. With the receding snow, these hardy Buds have appeared like Spring Breakers in Daytona, blighting the roadside with their tacky—tinny—blooms. I planned to pick from both sides of the road, on my way down and back, but my bounty ran over with a full bag of blossoms from the walk down.
Budweiser, Coors, Busch, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the occasional invasive species, Heineken. I harvest them all, and hope to nurture them from blossom to flower:
I hope to have a bouquet soon, maybe to toss at a June Redneck Wedding.