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Senator Byrd

Leadership.      Character.      Commitment.

Senate Remarks by Robert C. Byrd

March 21, 2003

"Ah, Spring."

Mr. President, at last, at long last, Spring has arrived.  After a long gray winter made darker by the specter of war, and with that conflict now upon us, it is heartening to be reminded of the great rhythm of the seasons and the renewal of the earth and the life upon it.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea.

So wrote the poet Robert Burns.

On the world stage, war plays a leading role, demanding our attention with the strident clangor of steel and the tramp of marching troops.  But in the wings, subtly repainting the background sets, Spring softens the scenery and gives us hope for the rebirth of peace.  Bright crocuses blanket the ground in a confetti of color and the green ink of new growth stains the tawny fields of winter.  The redbuds cover the hillsides in a rosy blush as bare forests rush to cover themselves in verdant blankets of new leaves.  Banks of nodding daffodils cheer the anxious hearts of families worrying over loved ones in uniform far from home.

Last year, a dry and mild winter caused spring bulbs to bloom in February.  This year, as snowfall after snowfall piled up on lawns and roads, it seemed as if no flower could survive in the icy soil.  Seed catalogs languished unread as we shoveled sidewalks and scraped windshields.  We told ourselves that we needed the moisture and that the snow would replenish the groundwater, but these charitable thoughts faded as we faced another foot of new-fallen snow, another miserable commute, another slushy slog across parking lot melt.  It was a long and wearing winter, and for those in the northern latitudes of the United States, it lingers on still.  In Washington, and in West Virginia, however, we are emerging from our dens like bears – shaggy, lean, and hungry for Spring.

Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising
Sweet
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant
The sun
When first on this delightful land he
Spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit
And flower.

The poet John Milton wrote those words.

I look forward to turning away from the incessant news coverage of war and to spending a few precious moments outside listening instead to the spring peepers – those little frogs whose singing brings back boyhood memories of bubbling springs along Wolf Creek Hollow in Mercer County, West Virginia.  Their singing coincided with the arrival of warmer weather and with it, a welcome respite from those bitter early morning walks to school, cold hands wrapped around my lunch pail handle, coat collar turned up against the wind that transformed tender ears into red popsicles.

As I tend to the simple routines of springtime – cleaning up the sticks and leaves strewn across the yard by the winter winds, preparing my small garden, weeding and fertilizing the lawn – I shall look upon the spring flowers in all their finery.  The forsythia, the lilac, the hyacinth, all are undaunted by the code oranges and the code reds.  They care nothing for al Qaeda terrorists or Tomahawk missiles, for M1-A1 tanks or F-117 bombers, for sandy battlefields or military strikes.  In their benevolence, they show the same cheerful faces to Presidents and dictators, to soldiers and the loved ones those soldiers leave behind.  In their camps in Kuwait and in their bivouacs in the desert, our brave troops will not see a daffodil this spring.  But God's daffodil are there for them, just as we are, our support as eternal and dependable as the arrival of Spring.  I hope that they can take comfort in knowing that the daffodils still bloom and that Spring has come at last.   With my prayers for their safety and quick success, I wish them the energy and purpose of Spring.  May they soon be restored to us, to enjoy a beautiful springtime at home.

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