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When God made me born a yankee he was teasin'
When we were exiled to Yankeeland, springtime was the worst. Summer there is a delight, with mild temperatures and no humidity; autumn is simply spectacular; winter is, well, it's a wonderland.
But there's no springtime. You have "dirty snow" season that turns into "mud season" which turns into about 3 weeks of actual springtime at the end of April, and then it's summer.
Yesterday in Roswell, I saw daffodils. February 3rd. The Camellia has been in bloom for weeks. It's glorious.
This song is particularly poignant for me right now, enjoying the first blush of spring here with the family. Thinking about the drive between Austin and Texas, which will come again all too soon but mercifully won't go on too much more.
Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long
The Indigo Girls have been around for quite some time - this song is from around 1990, back before I listened to much Country music. But it captures the wistful longing for hearth and home, for the place where you belong, that is so common in Country.
Southland in the Springtime (Songwriter: Emily Saliers)
Maybe we'll make Texas by the morning
Light the bayou with our tail lights in the night
800 miles to El Paso from the state line
And we never have the money for the flight
I'm in the back seat sleepy from the travel
Played our hearts out all night long in New Orleans
I'm dirty from the diesel fumes, drinking coffee black
When the first breath of Texas comes in clean
And there's something 'bout the Southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long
Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season
When God made me born a yankee he was teasin'
There's no place like home and none more pleasin'
Than the Southland in the springtime
In Georgia nights are softer than a whisper
Beneath a quilt somebody's mother made by hand
With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations
And the peach trees stitched across the land
There'll be cider up near Helen off the roadside
And boiled peanuts in a bag to warm your fingers
And the smoke from the chimneys meets its maker in the sky
With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers
And there's something 'bout the Southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long
Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season
When God made me born a yankee he was teasin'
There's no place like home and none more pleasin'
Than the Southland in the springtime
1 comment:
That's the only one of theirs that's stuck with me after all these years.
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