Every spring, Locust trees take me by surprise. There they are! Humble symbols of homesteading. Quick growing bits of shade. They are short-lived and their brittle trunks make lousy firewood when they die. They are not particularly attractive or graceful. But, oh! They smell heavenly when they bloom. That is when it happens! A common, ungainly tree becomes a magical aromatherapy on a late spring morning.
Note: I learned in Trail of Tears, The Rise and Fall of the Cherokee Nation, by John Ehle, that the Cherokees fermented honey locust seeds to make beer. Maybe, that is why we see one on so many abandoned homesteads? Maybe, they weren’t quite the teetotalers we thought they were.