It was cooler than I realized, yet still spring arrived. The backyard was downtrodden with the weight of winter. The brown and dead leaves, matted down and trampled by wind, snow and squirrels, lay flat beneath my feet. The ground was still frozen in most parts.
Our Lenten rose, with us since the year we first moved in – 2002 – poked its mauve head out from a layer of tattered leaves, with veining the shade of rhubarb stems. The color of summer, strange and welcome at such an early date. I surveyed the area for places where a fountain bamboo might go. This is the year we go about replenishing the specimens we lost a while back in a magnificent if deadly wave of flowering.
In a sheltered microclimate beside the garage, a group of narcissus was already in bud. Earlier than any other year, they were a happy sight to behold, unexpectedly pleasant, as I always forget which bulbs I planted in the fall and where. For a while, I was usually too pooped and exhausted to do any sort of fall bulb planting. By that point I was already hunkering down and putting the garden to sleep, too far ahead in my winter mindset to be bothered. The past few years, however, I’ve had a late-season second-wind, and each spring I’m glad I did. I should probably mark where they are, but there’s something more enjoyable about having it be a surprise. So few things are spoiler-free these days – we must take the joy where we can find it.
Mostly the tasks to be done in this early stage of inclement weather consist of surveying and planning. When the sun warmed things a bit I managed to prune the front yard hydrangeas, and I’ve managed to remove the old soil and dead roots from the backyard pots. Baby steps for the infancy of the season, and with snow due it’s best not to get too far into anything.
