One of the hardest things for a gardener is the wait between the end of winter, and the first real showing of spring in their garden. That’s why each time I talk to friends down on the coast, I must remind myself that I choose to live up here for a reason. It was our dream to live in this beautiful area, and if the signs of spring in the gardens lag behind, then I have to deal with it. That said, it’s not a easy adjustment, and a little gardening voice in my head keeps saying, the season is shorter, the season is… [oh be quiet will you?]
We have lost all of our snow, some of our neighbours still have patches, and it looks like the fields are free finally to breathe. The birds are celebrating, loud with chirps, and singing, it’s a joyful noise.
The other morning I was woken up very early by a murder… of crows that is. The entire flock was congregating in our front yard, and there must have been some sort of trial going on, I have never heard such cawing, it was over the top. Apparently one crow did something bad and the punishment was severe, and loud. Not a nice day to be a crow, or the people sleeping in our house. That was a one time deal, and the offender was dealt with severely by the crow council, and promises were made to hold court somewhere else from now on.
There are subtle signs of spring, and some days I am hopeful that it’s happening soon, others it seems that we are so far behind. I hear tales about the cherry trees blooming, and crocus coming up down in my former home, and then I look at the pitifully few tulips that are poking stems through the bark mulch in our front yard, and I resolve to plant bulbs, and masses of spring color this fall.
That way when I look out the windows on the brown grass, and bare twigs that seem to stay way too long, I can promise my self that lagging behind or not, there will be color.