Change in the weather
Our pal Bob sang, “A change in the weather is known to be extreme.” Do you miss 20° mornings yet? On Saturday I was sweating, and the previous weekend was frigid and windy, and, for me, the weather has better charisma now.
Do you have dirt under your fingernails yet? Me too. In her short story “Bluebeard’s Egg,” Margaret Atwood wrote, “In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.” Yes, we should acknowledge the chance of another frozen morning, but that doesn’t hold gardeners back. Onion sets can go in because you will have already prepared soil ahead of time (that’s why we have winter). Even more exciting, you probably started cabbage seedlings in February in little cartons by the window in your living room because you were weather-bound, so they’re ready now … put them in. I give them protection from March winds when they need it.
Appearance of early flowers such as daffodils and dandelions coincides with but disregards the springtime change. They are forever on time. Author Suzanne Collins observed, “What I need is the dandelion in the spring.” Folks claim that eating dandelion leaves moderates blood pressure. Roots harvested in late autumn, once cleaned, can be cut into fairly thin sections and dehydrated on a saucer on your dashboard.
One way to use the dried root pieces is to make a decoction. I’ve never heard the word “decoct” spoken, so I’ll introduce it here: to properly decoct your roots, gently boil them for about two Alex de Grassi songs and strain. Use decoction as a liver cleaner. Decocted roots go in the compost.
Last autumn, I came home from Kansas City with a rhizome of Solomon’s seal, a new plant for me, and I don’t know which of the 60 Solomon’s seal species I came home with, but it survived our winter and several strong stems off the rhizome broke ground already. It seems to like it here. Eventually it will bear little bell-shaped white flowers followed by huckleberry-colored fruits that attract birds.
Per the season, gardeners mosey with rapt attention along pathways to see which perennials survived the winter. In autumn, I also planted seeds of nettles, bachelor buttons, scullcap, echinacea and probably more that prefer a winter in the ground in hopes that, some fine spring day, they sprout. If some seeds don’t sprout – it happens – that leaves a spot something else, and the seeds might be late sprouters and surprise you later.
Artist, teacher, holistic nurse Susan J. Bissonette said, “An optimist is the human personification of spring.” Gardeners plant things, walk pathways, watch and wait, and then nurture and facilitate growth of whatever sprouts, and, yes, maybe harvest something, but the reward begins with dirty hands and knees preparing the soil. I also enjoy browsing seed catalogs in winter and dreaming of growing gomphrena because why not!
When Leo Tolstoy wasn’t writing famous novels, praying or producing children. he was an avid gardener with lots of land. “Spring is the time of plans and projects,” he proclaimed. Leo and I are the same in that regard. I bet he had farmhands. I don’t. Regardless of the contrast between my spring vision of a soon-to-appear garden paradise on my hillside in northern Madison County versus my autumnal review of how it went, I have always looked forward to the journey and have accepted that some years go this way and, in others, I have too many cucumbers. Pickles all around! I like making pickles. This year will be the best ever.
Guitarist Alex de Grassi, also a gardener, noted, “Water is fluid, and our ability to be creative is fluid also. We are able to move fast and slow.” On guitar, Alex moves faster than I do, but gardeners like Alex and me are flexible because weather is the boss. Weather sometimes dampens optimism.
Nevertheless, It’s spring optimism season, and this season will produce the best gomphrena crop ever. Basil, too. And bush beans.