Late Winter Gardening
Mary Ellen Gambutti
As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, my anticipation heightens with periodic bursts of mild air. Each day, a strengthening sun calls crocuses and daffodils to rise. No matter that there are still snow patches at the end of March, they cool and temper a day that turns suddenly too warm. I peel off layers of down and wool as activity warms me.
It’s time to begin. Time to start in the garden. I know what I’ll do first. Leaves, having lain in moist beds since autumn rains, oak and maple matted and stuck to frosted soil, can be pulled off in small sheets. Nothing is more delightful than revealing strong yellow-green growth, the musty smell of humus. Even wearing neoprene, I feel the slight bite of fingertips on part-frozen earth. I resist gloves, preferring direct contact in all seasons, but late winter tasks demand them.
Warmth settles on my back as I crouch along the border, still stiff from the winter couch. I know it will be weeks before I freely maneuver through the beds, hauling soil and mulch, planting, before the need for water returns.
With this bed free and breathing, I pull my Felco pruner from my jeans pocket and move to clip the Perovskia, Russian sage, dried, bleached, still faintly fragrant. Left to bloom out its blue scraggle and twist, now leaning and broken from months of snow, I shape it back toward its base, to any new pale growth along the stems, as I would lavender. If there is nothing but wood, I go further, to the bottom tuft of green. By May, it will be full and fragrant in the breeze.
These tasks bring joy, to feel the life around me, the life within me. Snipping rose bushes encourages April growth. I recall how: just above a five-leaflet leaf. How deep the satisfaction in simple actions that will create blooms. And again, more bloom, if, in a month, the work is repeated.
towering tulip tree
buds dance in the breeze,
trill of a pine warbler
Thank you for stopping by!
Makes me miss the real Spring season. I felt the decriptions. Keep at it!