Bainbridge, Georgia is like little towns (we’re about 10,000 people—neither growing nor shrinking) all across the South—all across America, but like every one of those other little towns we have our special ways and special moments.
This happy (almost) spring weekend we’re enjoying two of those.
For the first, we look back and thank our city’s leaders of thirty, forty, maybe fifty years ago. Someone may know, but no one seems sure. The city began to give away dogwood trees every spring. Not big trees, not even saplings, switches really. The kind you could probably buy four for a dollar. But these trees were free. They went home with school children, the firemen handed the out down at the station, or folks dropped by city hall. And they planted them, they planted them all over town, year after year. They watered them, they fertilized them, and the dogwoods grew, then grew some more. Today, every spring, from the middle of March until about the first of April, the town floats in a snowy mist; the blossoms cover the tiny leaves, they seem suspended, they take our breath away.
When we recover, we head downtown for our other special moment—Artsfest—when every year (this is the nineteenth) we celebrate the art and culture of one particular United State and art and culture in general. This is for the community, especially for our children. More about that tomorrow after the final festival in the square amid the azaleas and, yes, dogwoods.
Meanwhile, enjoy a wisteria blossom in my back garden. They tell us wisteria is invasive here; that we should rip it out. Every year we think we will, and then it blooms!