Winter dragged, beginning; or In The Midst?
Illustration: untitled by Maurya
It loitered. We thought it would never leave, though we noticed promises of spring weeks ago. “If we still lived in Washington”, I’d grumble to no one in particular, “we’d have seen crocuses a month and a half ago. The daffodils would be up for sure”. But driving around town this last week, I saw daffodils. All at once, all of a sudden! When did they arrive? I didn’t notice their arriving; how did I miss that? They don’t guarantee anything, other than their mother bulbs beneath the ground are happy and ticking. Yet here they are, and I am so happy to see them.
We could get another snow storm next week. But each day gets a little longer, and eventually, inevitably, the days will have to warm up. In general. There are less frosty mornings already.
So Frank and I (mostly Frank, with a small version of heavy machinery) are moving mountains of dirt on our lot, getting ready to plant things. A lawn, for instance. A vegetable garden, with fruit trees and maybe lavender standing sentinel around it. Shrub and perennial borders, naturalistic meadow plantings. Towers of strawberries, hedges of raspberries. Oh, yes, my plans are big. They may invoke nature, but they don’t have to be realistic. The plug trays I planted a month ago are full now of newly germinated seedlings, dominating my windowsills. I have four trays, and each tray holds between fifty to seventy-two baby plants. Foxglove, penstemons, salvias, malvas, lavender, lady’s mantle, echinacea. The Thalictrum delavayi and geum I planted are still sleeping; I’m eager to see how they look when they are born. I’ve never grown them before.
We are going ahead with this, even though he still doesn’t have a for-sure, stable job. He’s worked a week here and there on short contracts. We’re buckled down and doing ok, weathering the disappointment. I’m cooking the venison my dad and brother so generously shared with me last fall more often.
