"In Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." -Alfred, Lord Tennyson
"It's spring! Man, once it gets light, I love to think of fancy landscaping." Rochell
Ah, spring. The snow is finally over, and the temperature starts to rise. The sun is higher, the days are longer, and little hints of green begin to peak from the barren trees and soggy earth. Lethargic humans, rousing themselves from their four-month, weather-imposed, semi-hibernation, take their first tentative steps into the world with skin exposed. Shading their eyes from the unfamiliar sun, they look about the gray earth, and something in their memory is stimulated - the promise of colors and fragrances - and some, myself included, are struck stupid with the desire to grow things. To dig in the dirt and watch things bloom.
To beautify the world after the long ugliness of winter.
Every year the urge hits. Every year I give in. Every year I yield to the optimism. Every year I wake up one April morning and - like a giddy school girl - dance to the garage and dig out my gardening gloves.
Every year I am reminded that this is a terrible time of year.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice... well, hope "springs" eternal, right?
This year, my husband pulled out the hedge of boxwoods that he felt had grown too tall in front of my front windows. I have an clean canvas upon which to create my horticultural masterpiece. School was a bit more trying this year so I am getting a bit of a late start, but it is still before Memorial Day, so off I go.
First stop: scour the internet. What kind of plants do I need. Am I planting in the shade? How tall should they grow? Shrubs or just smaller perrineals? Fragrant? In what season do they bloom? When should they be planted? After this exhaustive research, I pick out the beautiful green things that will beautify my yard, at which point I must go BACK to the internet to make sure they are compatible with the USDA hardiness zone where I live (also tricky - am I 5 or 6? more specifically, 5b or 6a?)
Step two: travel the three county area looking for said plants. I don't know why I attempt this every year. These plants are apparently rare and exotic species, no matter that all of the websites say things like "native" and "common". Eight greenhouses and two days later, I readjust and decide to buy the hydrangeas (they really are beautiful) at the local nursery, steal some coral bells from my sister (the internet says plant these in the fall but no way am I waiting to for fall - I am ready NOW), take some astilbies from my mother, and transplant some hostas from another part of my yard (both of which should be planted in April. Really? It SNOWED in April!). I grab my shovel, gloves, and trowel (full disclosure, I have to stop at the store and buy another trowel and couple pairs of gloves), and head to the gardens of my family to pillage. On the way home, I stop at the garden center to buy a couple bags of soil - guiltily hiding the plants in the truck that I did not buy from said garden center, then go back to the hardware store where I replaced my trowel and gloves to buy the mulch I should have bought during the first stop, and finally back to my house.
Step three: decide where the pilfered vegetation (ooooh wait! I need vegetables! later, later...) should be place for maximum aesthetic value. Back to the internet - how tall will these hostas grow? How far apart should the hydrangeas be placed? Do I go for a symetrical, more traditional pattern and spread them out equally or a casual bunch of playful groupings? WE are going whimsical this year. Good. on to -
Step four: throw out back, tweak knees, pull muscles, race (as fast as the sore back, muscles, and knees will allow) back to store for ibuprophin, curse creatively and loudly, fight mosquitoes, dig more, curse more, replace weed barrier, plant, mulch, water, and take long hot bath.
The next day, the cursing continues. What was I thinking? Every year. Did I not get a year older ? Did I not promise myself I would take it easy this year? Did I not remind everyone to stop me? With much cursing - still - I crawl off the couch where I slept because I could not make it up the stairs and step outside. Hey, nothing is dead, the dog did not trample anything, and it looks, dare I say? promising. I water, because the morning is the best time to water, and clean up the hastily discarded empty mulch bags, move the remaining potting soil to the garage, and put the gloves and trowel in a "safe" place.
It has been a week and things look really nice! As a matter of fact, I have been looking at that space in the back yard that could use a little sprucing up. And that hill - the one I never mow very well - wouldn't a vegetable garden be just perfect there.
Hope springs eternal, and so do plants.
It looks beautiful!