I was going to be sensible this year, without heading into it full tilt but it’s begun, the seasonal marathon of back aching spring fever, garden lust that signifies getting out in the garden.
Spring has suddenly shown up at the door, her bags overflowing with tufts of green stuff hanging out at the seams. Although the colors she has painted the decor are still brown, there is a slight green tinge and that’s our signal to dive in.
No amount of winter training will equip us for the long marathon to come. The early morning wake up calls before the sun shows it’s hand, the “should I just get up and get outside despite the dark” thoughts. The late darkening evenings getting just one last garden raked, and prepped before the mosquitoes show up. The absolute joy of seeing anything emerge from that frozen brown soil.
All winter I’ve walked through miles of rugged rural roads dodging ice and snow patches, slipping along with crisp breezes freezing it’s way through layers of scarves and gloves. When the roads were clear enough I’ve biked between late winter snowstorms, warm in the sun, cold in the shade. On inclement days the tread mill has been my friend, and none of it prepares me for that first real day of gardening.
Warming up before grabbing the tools is futile, just get in there and get it done, time is a wasting, and we are already late as it is. Neighbours emerge from their den’s looking pale and rested not seen all winter. Some are tanned from winter get away’s, they will be the ones that groan the loudest, you pay for what you got. Soon the air will be filled with the sound of raking, clipping, pruning, and digging. Translucent recycling bags, and piles of branches will appear at the end of the driveways, like gaily wrapped gifts for spring, while residents walk with crooked posture for a few days.
My 80 year old neighbour insists on his yearly stunt of blowing the accumulated fir needles off his roof despite my worry about his falling off and breaking something. We’ve offered to do it for him, but stubborn farmer genes do not age as fast as the body does. I rake the dead leaves from the garden beds with one ear listening to the sound of the blower stopping, my signal to look up and spot him. I mentally run through my first aid steps in case he were to fall.
The shivering dichotomy of frost covered morning grass, and layer shedding afternoon sun with down vest, and gloves in the AM, sunglasses and t-shirts in the afternoon. The soil is cold, and so are our muscles, but we will both warm up as the season progresses. The snows hold onto frequently smaller patches and reveals what been hidden for the past 4 months.
The workouts, the walking, the biking, will not prepare you for the hours of squatting, bending, raking, clipping, and late that night we wake to the solitude of a evening TV show playing to a audience of snoring people and realize that this is gardeners boot camp.
It’s hard, it’s fast, and it’s painful, but I would have it no other way.
Bring on the gardening games, we are more than ready.
You may have noticed that my watermarks are a little larger today. Many thanks to Lori @ Family Trees May Contain Nuts for letting me know that someone has been stealing our images and claiming them as their own, even being so bold as to put their copyright on the bottom of the post.
Despite Copyright declarations on my sidebar, watermarks, and the metadata that I have embedded in all of my photos they feel that they can just do what ever they feel like with our images.
While I advocate the pinning of my images to Pinterest as long as there is full credit, and linking back to my blog post, I do NOT allow use of them for any other reason without my written permission.
Good for you Lori for catching this, and thanks again for taking such quick action. Lori has outlined the steps you can take here should you find your images stolen.
Let’s all be vigilant, and if we see someone else’s images stolen let them know about it.