Oh Sunshine and non-frostbite-inducing breezes, how I love you! After a morning of trying to make sense of newly installed website plugins and meta tags, these bleary eyes and brain begged to be outdoors. I quickly ditched the computer screen and donned my leather gloves for some spring gardening. It felt sooOOOoo good!
Pulling back winter’s mulch and finding daffodil buds, iris leaves, and tulips popping up, makes my heart flutter. Every. Stinkin’. Time. I’m smitten with dirt. And worms! I speak the language of compost. I love poop. (Well, from cows and chickens, etc. I don’t particularly have an affection for yours.) And with the anticipation of spring, and the smell of the neighbors spreading turkey manure over their fields, comes my vision for the gardening season.
I have dreams, see. Dreams. Unrealistic, impractical, and unlikely, yes. But hey, a girl can hope. I’ll start off trying to remember what plants I picked up from the clearance rack at Lowes last fall, and just where in the heck I put ’em. I’ll forget about the drawings I made last year, or maybe I won’t, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t make sense of them anyway. Trying to recall what has and hasn’t worked, what I wanted to change, and what I want to tackle this year, I’ll make new sketches. This is the little sliver of practicality I have in me- this whole planning part. It amounts to three hairs on my left arm.
Somewhere in the midst of all that, life, or rain, will get in the way. Someone will divide their perennials and offer the extras to me. Of course, of course, I will nab those babies up and bring them home. (I’ll also just “happen” to be wandering through the gardening department at every store I drive by snagging up deals.) Sooner or later, I’ll throw caution to the wind and weed, trim, transplant, and divide however it makes sense at the time.
But you know, I do learn a lot that way. (I’m getting pretty good with graph paper.) Each year, the yard is getting better. And I’m getting better too. You may not know it by driving by our place. For the most part it looks like we don’t care.
In fact, almost two years ago, I ran into a neighbor I hadn’t met before, while handing out posters for the tag-less beagle who had shown up at our door. I’d put down our cross roads and contact information. Looking at the poster, the sweet gal said “Well that’s where I live! Which house is yours?” Now, we live in rural farm country. There aren’t that many houses to pick from on the corner I’d listed. When I told her, she looked awfully puzzled.
“No. You can’t live there. That place has been abandoned for years.” I muttered something about starting work on the inside first and made my way on down the road. True story. (Really though, she was quite nice.)
Sigh… If I could hang my passion on a shepherd’s hook on our lawn, for all to see, every passerby would know they’re looking at a masterpiece in progress. My close neighbors, on the other hand, they know. Every time we cross paths, they say something kind about all the work we’re doing. That’s pretty encouraging. But we have a long way to go. Honestly though, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.
This year, I hope to make a sitting spot underneath the shade of our white pine tree. And take out that stupid “dry river bed” thing I put in last year. There’s a couple areas I’d love to clean up, and some plants I want to move around. Eh, we’ll see. Life, weather, dogs – who knows what else will unfold? My spring gardening mojo is just getting warmed up. I’m sure I’ll keep you posted.