betsey: Jane, help. It’s snowing again. Make it stop.
I can remember years when in late February I could go out in my yard and see shoots coming up in the garden. Well, after the snow from the Blizzard of 2011 (20 inches!) finally melted a few days ago, we had a semi-nice Saturday, so of course we took Lucy for a good walk and then I traversed our manor, surveying the grounds, hoping for a sign of life. But all the crocuses and scylla, first bulbs to come up, were wisely hiding underground going, “You kidding? If it’s good enough for the groundhog, it’s good enough for us. We’re staying in.”
Still, it was enough to see bare ground -- and start thinking about this year’s garden.
jane: We don't start thinking about our garden until Rich has torched our ornamental grasses, especially our silberfeder. Please don't report us, but every spring Rich does an unofficial "controlled" burn of those things -- over the years they've gotten HUGE -- so the new growth can start. (I hide out in the house, cell phone in hand, ready to punch in the fire department's number, just in case.) Before Rich took matters into his own hands, so to speak, we used to go out mid-March on a mild Saturday to hack those things down with hedge clippers. (We really need machetes.) It took forever, not to mention too many yard waste bags to count.
betsey: We got our Burpee’s catalog last week, and I love sitting and salivating over the heirloom tomatoes -- the ruby-like strawberries -- even the golden beets. I love golden beets, but in our clayey soil I have a hard time with root crops. Still, a girl can dream. It’s like baseball, which I’m also excited about as the Sox report to spring training. Everything is quivering with possibility and potential. This could be the year!
jane: I say that every year. But the problem is, I daydream about what to change but I forget to record my ideas or even what we've already planted. Once upon a time we did have a plan and I kept a garden journal that listed what we'd planted, but that was about, um, 13 years ago.
My sister-in-law was an avid gardener, and her plants always thrived. She gave me a wonderful trumpet vine cutting last summer, and I'm hopeful it takes off by the arbor near my front door this year. Anyway, Terry once suggested taking photos of the same garden spot during different times of day to obtain an accurate handle on how much sun an area really gets. I've discovered it's easy for me to over- or underestimate whether a particular corner is full or partial sun. And in spring, everything is full sun anyway!
betsey: There is absolutely nothing like that first mild day late in March when you get outdoors, maybe rake out some beds, trim the dead stalks . . . the wind is soft, the soil is redolent with earthy fragrance (and isn’t that a great word, “redolent”). Maybe an earthworm squiggles out of a hole. And by then the crocus are in full bloom.
But here’s the tension: when are you “done”? I’m already thinking about this one hidden corner . . . a path, a bench, clematis twining up the arbor . . . For the gardener, there’s always more. You never rest on your laurels. Or your lavender.
jane: You're right about that, Betsey. You can never rest on your previous year's accomplishments -- or your achillea, either. What I love most about gardening is how it's a process. With perennials, you can always mix things up, experiment, try new combinations. What fun would it be to have the garden all set and never change a thing? There's something invigorating about getting out there, mucking around, digging plants up with a spade and dividing them, then plopping them somewhere new, just for the heck of it.
betsey: You know, right now, even “mucking” sounds inviting. And thanks for the reminder about dividing perennials. That’s something I always forget about. And can we come over and watch the “controlled burn”?
jane: We could let you, but first we'd have to force you to fill out a nondisclosure form!
betsey: I have an idea. We should, from time to time, right here in this space, report how things are going in our respective patches of God’s green earth. And I would love to hear about what’s worked for others!
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