Each year I purchase packets of seeds and potting soil, peat pots and planters, as I anticipate the warm summer months designed for growing. Remember those bright sunny days in March when it felt like spring had certainly arrived. While I wanted to be fooled into thinking this true, my inner soul said Nope! Not yet.
Sure enough, cold came back with icy rain, snow, sleet, and freezing temperatures. I laughed, relieved that I had postponed my gardening project. When the weather really did turn bright, I excitedly grabbed the necessary tools and began my assault on the season.
I dragged the picnic table onto the deck so that watering would be handy and also, in case of a freeze, enabling me to haul the bundles inside. Just like a watched pot never boils, planted seeds never sprout, I guess for fear of their future ahead but most likely because this procedure requires time – days and days rather than minutes.
I had just about given up and prepared to replant when the rains came. As you know, April and early May brought a deluge – inches of rains, not simply a few muddy drops. Because we were gone when the downpours started, upon return when I checked my entourage, everything was deep in water, not just the plants but the holders underneath.
Draining and sopping as much excess as possible, I held little faith that anything had survived when what to my wondering eyes should appear? Not Jolly Old Saint Nick but tiny loops protruding from the soil. Patience (or impatience!) paid dividends as loops transitioned to hardy stems and leaves. More greenery appeared daily.
And then the heat arrived. I really do love our weather, but I wish it changed a little more slowly, by infinitesimal degrees rather than by the 10s and 20s. My once soaking soil now constantly begs for a drink. With love and care, I sprinkle each plant, thanking it for surviving.
As a reward, gentle leafy heads nod in agreement and I have renewed confidence that we will succeed. Rich rewards are gained, not just by the steady growth, but also by the wonderful feel of warm soil on my hands and the sensation that all is well.
I must admit, however, that I admire the glorious plants in stores. Oh, how I wish I possessed that talented green thumb. I find the cascading hanging baskets amazing and high/low/medium pots lovely. Last year I attempted this task, selecting my “thrillers, fillers, and spillers” i.e. plants that are tall and a focal point, others that fill the soil space of the planter, and those that tumble down the sides adding color and texture.
I wandered the garden shop, seeking maximum beauty then gathered my varieties and headed to the checkout when what seized my attention – a gorgeous, pre-planted pot at half the price of my collection. Knowing that I’d disappoint myself by eschewing creativity, I still replaced my menagerie and bought the already complete array.
Actually, I never felt bad about the final decision. In fact, two delights climbed into my basket and each flourished throughout the summer and into the fall.
Every year when the cold weather seeps in I fret about all of this promise dying. Not the vegetables, of course, as they have been harvested and enjoyed, but the flowers. Like the geraniums.
Their vivid colors and strong constitution remind me to trim them then store them downstairs until the next year. With 6 or 7 of these deposited I water them occasionally, but often forget their existence until a day when I realize dead leaves flourish and the plants have assumed a pathetic attitude.
Carefully, I select one for the trash. As you can imagine, I only issue the death penalty on Sunday nights knowing the garbage truck arrives early and the refuse will be gone before dawn. Guilty conscience?? Yes. It feels wrong.
Fortunately, the holdovers are numerous so that one or two make it until spring. The job now demands acclimation – out for a little time on a coolish day, in at night. Repeat. Unfortunately, over time this repetition becomes annoying as I announce, “Toughen up!” and leave the bewildered survivors outside. Come wind, rain, or heat (but never a frost – that’s too unkind), the geraniums quiver, drop leaves, fizzle, but live on until one day – surprise! Apathy exits and resilience abounds. A rugged though droopy specimen is ready for the days ahead.