Forsooth! The Forsythia!

I tried to find the derivation of "Forsooth! The Forsythia!" because my mom used to say that every spring every time we saw the first Forsythia bloom. However, while many sites can be found that proclaim "Forsooth! The Forsythia!" , none of them tell me where it came from. I was certain it was a poem my Mom was quoting. Maybe it is just a phrase that springs from the universal consciousness of reverence when fragile blossoms dare brave the frost and snow. Any old flower can bloom in the hazy lazy days of summer when bees are pollinating and gentle sunbeams are caressing fragrant gossamer-thin petals. It takes a hardy and bodacious spirit to unfurl in yellow cascading nakedness to the bitter grey of a world not yet awakened to the promise of rebirth.

I saw the first daring daffodil this week, and know the forsythia are not far behind, though there is snow in the forecast today! I had not known how completely I was storing up the wisdom and spirit of my mom until I drew my picture of the soon to burst forth forsythia. I can't wait to take my daughter to the wild splaying burst of blossoming sunrays and with great sagacity, tell her, "Forsooth! The Forsythia!"

I suspect she will crinkle her forehead and maybe smile, but she won't quite understand. I think you have to have a certain number of hard won wrinkles and aching bones to understand the courage and beauty and divine spark that those blossoms in the snow represent. But it will be my legacy to her, like it was my mother's to me, to never trim those wildly free branches that wave golden banners heralding hope and to shout our welcome.

Song of Solomon 2:12
Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land