Six plus inches of wet, heavy snow that started yesterday as rain, then to sleet, and now . . . . .well. Howling winds. The lights are flickering from time to time. Not exactly my expectation for the week after Easter, what with spring bulbs were coming up nicely and everything was starting to sprout. I’d bought some very nice daffodils bulbs, and they were at that expectant, pre-blossom stage. I ran out yesterday and covered them up before the wintery mix arrived, after running to the grocery store, as was everyone in the region, to buy some things to last us for a few days. And cancelled Her Ladyship’s appointment because there was no way we were going out. I didn’t even win the big lottery jackpot last night, which would have gone a long way toward mitigating the blustery, beastly weather.
The supermarket next door put out a huge display of pansies over the weekend, which I admired on the way in, as was another lady. We were just about to say something like, “perhaps one or two pots” when another person came up behind us, shaking her head and saying emphatically, “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. DON’T EVEN LOOK. IT’S TOO EARLY.” She was of course right, and now, looking out at the snow, we know just how right. One can dream, but not actually put anything out at least until early May in New England. Our weather is just too unpredictable and whimsical. Particularly this year, we’ve had periods of nice warm weather, so the bulbs all began to sprout, only to have today’s cold, snow, and ice. My poor daffodils. I don’t usually put in tulips, because the little beasties feast on them and they don’t last more than this year, perhaps next. The forsythia has budded and this storm will stop it dead in its tracks. Again, saw some very nice plants displayed at another supermarket, but I rejected the notion as the rain yesterday was turning to an icy mix. Even the crocuses have been looking skyward for a couple of days with a plaintive, “what the heck is this?” look on their tiny, sad little blossom faces.
So, I say, ok, nature, it’s time for you to set down for yourself some seasonal guidelines, like people do with clothing. We have expectations, self-imposed deadlines. I’ve made the shift to my Spring caps. Now you need to give us some weather that’s above freezing. You need to show us that global warming isn’t just the ice cap in the arctic. We’re approaching that critical point where, as Herself tells us, we’re leaving “winter white” behind for, well, white. I will say that many people I see out and about, particularly the young ones, have no clue about what to wear and when. I see shorts, flip-flops, and tee shirts even in winter, and now, they’re totally confused. Don’t these people feel the cold? Do we as humans no longer have internal thermostats? I do, even when it’s 65 inside and Her Ladyship tells me she’s “warm”. Doesn’t matter what is happening outside, our family is transitioning to spring / summer sweaters now and the weather is expected to act accordingly. No more parkas and gloves. Years ago, when I was teaching, a young lady informed me that the school building was too cold – in mid-winter – because she was from a tropical climate, and used to warm weather. I suggested, with my usual warmth and pleasantry, that as she was now in New England, perhaps she might consider dressing a bit more warmly. Clearly, the tank tops weren’t doing it for her. That’s the delightful perspective of youth – expecting the climate and the heating system to adjust to their dictates of fashion.
We’re clearly moving into spring, and by rights, I should be out cleaning out the flower beds, removing the yard’s version of a disaster scene. I don’t expect bright blossoms yet, and I don’t 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 the neighborhood. You know the one – you drive down the street and it jumps out at you from among the other groomed and manicured properties. OK, some of my neighbors can’t wait, so they put out plastic flowers, but you know what I mean. We’re in renewal mode here. The house needs some freshening up – but I’m afraid that if I get down to repaint the baseboards, I won’t get up again without a crane. The basement looks like a scene from a true crime show, where they find a body behind stacks of boxes, and the garage is overflowing with accumulated crap from the winter. And yet, I’m planning which container pots to put where, and which outdoor furniture cushions need to be replaced. I don’t have time to wait on the outside weather to make up its seasonal mind – I’m ready to move on the unessentials.
As I’ve written before, my gardening technique is rather hit-or-miss. I find what I like in the gardening magazines over the winter, fully intending to get them in the spring. By spring, I’ve forgotten what they were, so I get what’s out at the nurseries. That often works with modest success. Sometimes it doesn’t – too much sun, not enough sun, the sun moved, too wet, too dry. I’ve now developed a repertoire of “dependables”. Those that I’m reasonably sure will survive. I hate spending money on new plantings that prove temporary. I have a lot in place now, after 20 plus years, so I can spend more time and our daughter’s inheritance on containers. That’s where I like to experiment. I went with a yellow and orange color pallet a couple of years ago, only to have our dear friend, Lady Peacock, tell me how much she hates orange. That was a morale booster. Then again, she has typically been a pink, purple, and blue person. I wrote in a previous blog that she once returned plants to the nursery because they had the impertinence to blossom in lavender, not the pink that matched her door wreath. Can you imagine? You see her preferences immediately in her official residence, Teale Cottage.
Back to the topic at hand. Let’s get our seasons in New England organized, shall we? Let’s fondly remember the rites of spring past that were well on their way this year until. . . . . Spring cleaning – still on sporadically and when I feel like it. Getting the barbeque ready – still on, possibly but, the first grilling is now weeks, if not a month away. I won’t bother to refill the gas tank until, well, I can do that later on. Cleaning the porch and deck and setting out the furniture – that I can do. The old cushions will have to do, although some are looking really tired. I have a new power wash extension that I got for my birthday, so we’ll see how that works. New planting – that will have to wait, at least for a while. The stuff I put in last year should come back. The Red Sox have started a lackluster start to the season – they still seem to be trading away their best players and getting, well, bits and pieces. If we really, really need to have hot weather, it’s restricted to the last two weeks of July, then nice, pleasant 70’s until Labor Day. None of this hot sticky stuff unless you’re in Florida, where they’re used to it and air condition accordingly. I hate running the ac for hours, days, weeks on end. We also have a constitutional right to a pleasant fall with bright foliage and just a hint of crispness in the air that starts no earlier than October. Herself prohibits me turning on the heat until then. I think a well-ordered seasonal rotation is just the ticket to preserving that warmth, that smiley friendliness for which New Englanders are famous. Or, perhaps, I’m thinking . . . . . . not really.
I'm Thinking...No! 