Just when we thought the warm weather was finally arriving, the bluster of March came back to slap us in the face. OK, yes, we got a bit spoiled, lulled into a false hope, because it was a milder winter, and we had every reason to expect an earlier-than-usual leafy, flowery return. We thought climate change might have a small upside. Probably not by Easter, which is early too this year and the lilies will remain inside, but we could be looking out at cheerful daffodils and tulips as we fill out our tax forms.
Yes, Spring almost sprung. It came very close. The forsythia had small buds. The daffodils just starting to show sprouts. Just about the time I think I’ve got to go out and clean up the garden beds, and where I might put some new things, it’s cold and snow-covered again. I was talking to a gardener friend down in Rhode Island, and she’s been out cleaning up and getting her gardens ready. Now I feel guilty because I’m of the school-of-thought that waits until deep spring to start cleaning. There are those that love the cold outside. They revel in it. I’m not one of them. Just as there are two schools of thought on when the best time is to remove the dead stuff. Some say in the fall, when you can then mulch everything for the winter. Others suggest leaving it all until the spring, because wildlife relies on the seeds and other bits of debris that are left for winter feeding. I take the latter road because, well, in full disclosure, I’m too lazy to do it in the fall. I do plant bulbs then, because they need to have the winter freeze, and I empty the containers and put them in storage, but that’s about as far as I go.
We really haven’t settled on a coffee flavor that will herald the arrival of spring. The coffee shop people let us know that fall is coming with Pumpkin Spice. It’s a graceful transition. It takes us through until almost Thanksgiving, when Peppermint Mocha invades to remind us that we need to get our Christmas Shopping underway. The holiday decorations went up shortly after Columbus, or Indigenous Peoples’ Day, which ever you honor, in the stores, but the retail marketing people are hardly accurate indicators of changes of season. This time of year, we do see a few people filling their front yards with colorful eggs and inflatable bunnies for Easter, but with a distinct chill in the air and gale force winds, it really doesn’t “feel” like spring. The meteorologist predicted “rain on Saturday, with possible mixed precipitation and snow north and west of 495.” Oh, just great. That’s us. Once again, the daffodils will be shivering uncontrollably.
I have been working with my houseplants during the long winter months. They’re quite good, but there is only so far one can go with that. I’ve been experimenting with an assortment of containers in the living room. I call it the “Winter Garden”. My daughter calls it “That tangled jungle”. Followed closely by “do you really need that many?” Or, more frequently, a “Squandering of Her Inheritance”. I use the term, “curate”, because it sounds more like I’m working in an art gallery, though the Princess tells me that nobody “curates” plants. There’s a great deal of curating that goes on in the repotting process and considerations of “bright, indirect light” versus “part shade”. Or “shrouded in darkness most of the time.” She’s a bit of a purist, jealously guarding the term “curate” for film festivals and events that interest her. To be honest, I really don’t have any more room for plants – it’s just a matter of combining or replacing now. Like the spin cycle in the laundry. Her Ladyship asked me the other day how many plants and containers I planned to move outside when the warm weather comes, and there was a wistful, almost hopeful tone in her question. From her point of view, sadly not as many as . . . . I’m not a big believer in moving plants back and forth to the great outdoors, because I want insects to maintain their territory outside. Although my plants get blamed for anything that flies or crawls inside anyway.
It’s a week or two into spring – I tend to forget when the season really starts. As I said, I should be out cleaning out the flower beds, removing the yard’s version of an Avengers movie. I don’t expect bright blossoms yet, nor do I even expect a photographer from “Fine Gardening” to swing by, asking to set up a photo shoot. But I want to get the initial debris cleared away so it looks a little less like the neglected home in every neighborhood. You know the one – you drive down the street and it separates itself from the other yards that are groomed and manicured. This is the place that, in July, the grass will be waist-high clumps among brown spots of despair. The house is only partially visible behind overgrown shrubs. Weeds are growing in cracks in the walkway. Even youth looking for community service hours avoid this property. This place will take too much time. They’ll be working well into summer.
Now is the time – and I’m taking a risk here, to put away my winter boots by the back door. I keep them handy for popping out to fetch the newspaper or a quick dash to the garage with trash. I’m going to vacuum up the last bits of de-icer that have been tracked into the kitchen. In fact, I finished the last container of de-icer, and contemplated buying another. I decided, with just a hint of optimism, not to. I’m going to think about, but not actually bring up, the deck furniture, and while I’m dreaming, I’ll figure out where things will go. I may start going through the chair and bench cushions, looking to see which need to be replaced. Home Depot had them on sale – they were practically giving them away, last October. But I didn’t buy any because it wasn’t the right season. I know, I know – don’t look at me like that and shake your head. I should have been planning ahead.
Spring hasn’t sprung yet. I’m still turning up the heat in the morning, when I get up. Her Ladyship will be rousing herself in a few minutes, asking “why is so hot in here?” Her internal thermostat is vastly different from mine. I won’t open the windows to the screens just yet, but the shrubs outside are taking on a faint glow of green. The bulbs are telling me they’re ready when Mother Nature is. All signs are pointing to . . . . . Oh, just great – another torrential rain storm coming later this week. “A wintery mix is possible north and west of 495.” I can’t stand it.
I'm Thinking...No! 