A month after the first flower opened in my garden, we’re still at the first flowers stage. I now have crocuses, snowdrops, scilla, and one lonely vinca bloom – but they’re all small, early flowers, close to the house on the warm, east side. Hepatica have opened, finally, in a blaze of blue in the front garden. This is the longest, coldest early spring I can remember.
It’s been a struggle to get the gardening work done. Can’t rake while there’s snow on the ground. Can’t dig the beds while the ground’s still frozen. Can’t put out the birdbath when the water could freeze and crack the birdbath. And yet, when spring does fully arrive, I’ll need to be ready, to plant as soon as the soil is warm enough, because our season is so short.
Then I comfort myself. We’re not still waiting for the white piles to melt, like in some places, in this late, late spring. And spring will come. Truly. It’s only in fiction that winter can last for years. Right?
Maureen
