Where The Azaleas Bloom

The season is upon us with the itch of spring and all she brings puts an anxious bone in a man’s soul. Old Man Winter is slowly fading behind the scenes, but his few final curtain calls come with a bitter sting and a cold bite, leaving any early bloomer to perish. It’s a season when many outdoorsmen and conservationist alike embrace the Lord’s new nature beginnings through the welcoming tunes of the songbirds through the pines, new flowerings of trees and plants popping and the crimson reds and iridescent pinks of the wild azaleas sporting their finest suit.

The lakes are filled from daylight to dawn with their returning guests as the glistening waters welcome them with open arms, and warmer weather with the promise of a new spawn by the full moon. You can bet your bottom dollar the white perch will be yo-yoing in and out of the shallow sloughs as their eagerness to spawn can be hindered by the final curtain calls of Old Man Winter.

Not far away, the shallow ocean grass flats host an abundance of hungry silvery-gray speckled trout anxiously gorging their days away, awaiting optimal conditions for the best opportunity at life for their offspring. The pinfish flash their lively bronze color through the shallows in search of the same opportunities, while being a cog in the wheel of life and providing for ample nutrition for the next generation of trout. The seagulls cry through the air, looking for their next easy meal. The warm salt air breathes a refreshing welcome, as the tide rolls away, triggering the bite for the hungry fishermen plugging away through a spring day on the flats.

Back on the hill among the pollen blanketed pines, the gobbling wild turkey echoes deeper than any holler among these beautiful woods. It’s his time of year to shine as he courts only the finest ladies to his liking. A cool early dawn is accompanied by his best gobble, beckoning the willing ladies to come join his side. Bobwhite whistles in the distance for his lonely lover, piercing the crisp air with his gentleman notes. The songbirds echo their most excellent tune, singing at their best chance for love. The pine flats and hardwood bottoms Ole Tom courts his queens through are full of the purest pearl white dogwoods, the highlighter yellows of wild turnips, and swamp lilies in their whitest outfit, all swarmed with bees that tie this phenomenon together. The faint smell of the fresh charred pine flats burns through the air oft with a whisp of smoke from the dormant grasses that have fueled a timely burn for the new green shoots to lay their roots. But the gobble over the hillside consumes my next move.

Each step through the lively picturesque woods puts me closer to a time when I traveled on the heels of some of the greatest men to dawn these woods chasing the wild turkey, showing me an appreciation for conservation and every detail of the outdoors. If we weren’t in the woods, we were on the waters. As a young boy following in tow behind his father and grandfather, my mind was consumed with shallow thoughts that we were there for the next bite or bird to gobble, all the while being there for something far greater that the Lord has graciously provided: a peace of mind, tranquility and a promise of hope and a future through these new beginnings of life seen around us. These gentlemen are no longer to be seen by the common eye in these places, but this is where I go to find them, and myself. Where their passion was learned is where my passion has led me, yearning to be where the wild azaleas bloom.