Posts Tagged ‘gardens’

Potential daffodils

Spring will be here March 20, eighteen days from today. Less than three weeks. Yet my soul is ready for spring today: ready for the re-birth of life, for growth, for the changes of weather, for the green of grass and leaves, crocus colors, grape hyacinth purples. In the area where last fall I pulled (and pulled and yanked and pulled) the ivy ground cover, except for an earth-holding fringe by the sidewalk, a clump of green daffodil leaves has appeared, seemingly overnight, tiny yellow buds wrapped tightly and protected inside. The primroses that I bought last year and finally, (after all the years of buying them, only to throw them out before I could plant them outside), planted around the base of a bush on the side of the house are green. I look forward to seeing which colors will reveal themselves. Perhaps the five I just bought for $.99 each a couple days ago will also thrive once they’re done gracing the inside of the house with their beauty. My mind’s eye begins to see color, imagines flowers that I haven’t even planted, envisions my lavender beginning to wake again and the flowering of the plants I saw, loved, bought and planted…but don’t know by name. (Unfortunately, it also imagines war with plant-devouring chipmunks and deer, but that, also, is part of spring and summer.)

The best thing about spring is the gradual increase in light, a definite mood-enhancer. When I wake in the morning and lie there, doing my prayers, light is beginning to creep in before I get up. At night, there’s still light longer and longer after 4:30 pm each day. I don’t think I could easily live where throughout winter there would be virtually no light. The large windows in our house bring the spiritual uplift of the light indoors to bless me each sunny day. What a joy to raise the blinds each morning!

It amazes me each spring that despite my best efforts in the fall, and perhaps aided and abetted by neighbors who didn’t clean well or late enough, there is always a glut of dead, crispy (if it hasn’t been raining) leaves hiding in the corners of where the house and garage meet, under bushes and in the trenches I dug when we first moved in to aid the runoff of excess water away from the house and down to the sidewalk and tree lawn. Today they’re a sodden mat of ugly, growth-killing material. Yesterday when the temperature shot into the 60’s, my hands involuntarily began to move toward gardening gloves, rakes and garbage bags, wanting to clean up and bring order to my lawn, despite it being too wet to safely do yard work without damage.

Maybe tomorrow when it’s supposed to be warm again in the yo-yo manner of almost-spring: 60 and sunny; 40, cloudy, spitting rain-snow periodically, ground soaked; then warm with rain, followed a few days later by just-at-freezing with snow showers, I’ll be able to pick up the sticks that decorate the yard. I used to think of them as trash until we got a wood-burning stove when, in mysterious fashion, they morphed into kindling. After too many accumulated, they changed back into biodegradable trash. Either way, while on the lawn, they’re messy and I want them gone.

I find myself pulling out pictures of gardens, thinking about starting seeds, something very difficult to bring to fruition when I’m traveling between two places. For several years when I had a garden, I asked people to help with it while we went on vacation. That ended the year my “good friend” was in charge and I came back to find a mini-version of the Sahara desert where my tomatoes and other veggies had been. “I started over to your place often but it looked like it was going to rain, so I didn’t go,” she excused herself. “Why didn’t you go once you saw that it didn’t rain?” my brain screamed, but my face smiled and I said nothing; thought about a drip system some day. Turned out that once my usefulness for her was over, we suddenly didn’t see each other again. Guess we really weren’t friends. We certainly weren’t garden friends.

It’s only the second day of March. Eighteen more days until the official start of spring. It’s almost certain that there will be more days of winter. But inside me, the seed of spring has started growing and I’m nurturing it all I can, letting the joy bubble up each day a little more. I can’t wait!