One more, just one more good snow, then I will join you all in dreaming of spring. And that is an easy thing to contemplate, what with the weather as balmy as it has been this past week or so.
Yesterday I dug in the dirt, even though I made up chores to do, and today screams spring, even as we wait for severe weather, as predicted for tomorrow.
But still, we know how to ride those storms out as they herald spring as surely as those big fat robins in our backyards.
Like all good farmers, I have been pouring over seed catalogs and websites since Christmas, and have put in a couple of orders for pepper and tomato plants. I would prefer to buy those locally but I am experimenting with dwarf and micro plants this year, and it is the rare Kentucky tomato grower–professional or backyard amateur — who would consider any tomato that didn’t contain the words “big,” “bigger,” or “better” in it.
Last year, taking myself ‘way too seriously, I ordered premier zinnia seeds from a speciality grower. Now, zinnias are just about weeds, and I never bother with starting them indoors, but instead I shake them out of the paper packet right onto the ground when I take a notion. I certainly don’t buy them in pots at the nursery.
Let me say, these special seeds were a disappointment. Too uniform, too color-coordinated, too, well, boring. This year I am returning to Lowe’s and Rural King, picking up two or three packets, and letting the wind take the seeds wherever and however it desires. I like the variety and the serendipitous nature of it, the effect is so much more pleasing to my eye. And cheaper, too.
My Christmas tree lies in the drive like a beached whale, awaiting Ruth to arrive with her little chain saw, where she will dismember it and take it home to her woodpile in the country. I study and research the best time to prune my hydrangeas, and it is simple, really, but somehow it confounds me. I know the date is fast approaching, but I forget how to make the cuts that will give me strong stems and vibrant blooming.
My boxwood needs feeding, my sidewalk needs power washing, the storm door need to be replaced. The sky pencil holly by my back door–the one I put there so I wouldn’t hit my head on the light fixture every time I went outside–needs to be repotted, the pansies need revitalizing.
Lots of spring-like activity on my tiny plot of land.
But also, a winter birthday still to embrace. The big plans and the big notebooks I have to record my insights, my revelations, my goals and aspirations. If I make to April with any of that, I doubt it.
“The world is too much with us…” Wordsworth tells us, the “getting and spending,” the way we “lay waste our powers.” It feels right, doesn’t it? With the news so awful, and nothing we can do about it. With our aging hips, and empty nests, and disappointments and frustrations when people don’t do what we think they should. But then, those fat robins, showing up, just because they can.
Or those zinnias, too perfect, or too wild, but still we smile when we see them. Fresh compost and mulch, a gentle digging in the dirt. Enough. More than enough if we let it.
Greta McDonough 