Tuesday, February 28, 2012
My mind wanders to the garden today. As I wandered through it yesterday in the late February sunshine, my eye spied tiny pink violets blooming violently, daffodils with buds formed, and hyacinths growing up, quickly, much like a beloved 14-year-old girl next door. The soil around them was crumbling, apparent that the movement of their growth was fast and quick. The hot pink nubs of the rhubarb shout to me in all caps from across the yard, their color shocking in the brown soil.
Our garden is so much a perennial garden, leaving this time of year to bareness and a view of brown dirt in the beds, and quiet.
The leaves on the spirea are forming, teeny tiny dots of bright coral and the fire stick euphorbia has grown 3 inches straight out of the ground. Soon, I know, this whole area will be full of tiny firey red sticks emerging into the warming air. Glancing at the back bed, the gnarled root base above the soil level shows me the home of my beloved bleeding hearts. Sure enough, an inch or so of growth is showing, but I know how strange they grow and bloom. I will check every day on their progress. I think of them as babies who are born with a full head of hair. Our bleeding heart emerges almost immediately with blooms, using energy to both grow green growth, and to bloom its dainty pink nodding flowers all at the same time.
I try to not be overwhelmed. Spring can be overwhelming to gardeners. I look at the many rose bushes, especially the old climbers and ramblers, and see they have new growth showing. It's time to cut them back, and this year I intend to aggressively. But surgery in February has humbled me to be still, and to heal. No lifting, bending, or workouts at the gym for 6 weeks. I look at the roses and know they won't wait. I run through thoughts in my head, "What if I only cut and AdRi picks them all up and lugs them to the compost bin? Would that be allowable?" I suppose it might be, if I only did one rose bush every few days. But at that rate, it might be summer. Spring waits for no one, and while I revel in its quickening, I sit on my hands and am patient. The roses will be fine, and I will heal. And the bleeding hearts will bloom away, just like the hair on Beyonce's baby.