Still amazed

What a stunning start to spring! If this season was an orchestral performance, the audience would give a standing ovation. Those “firstchair” performers like blooming crabapple and dogwood trees earn their position of distinction. Leatherleaf viburnum, the 15-foot flowering shrub in my garden, is no slouch. The clusters of creamy white flowers are hard to miss. Rounding out the ensemble are the bedding plants already flowering like hellebore and dicentra. And there is plenty of spring show to come.

Mr. Gardener is having a banner season in the greenhouse. He started from seed several varieties of zinnias and coleus, as well as edibles like kale, beets, and carrots. I wish I could mention that we have tomatoes too, but that was a gardener fail. On one of those unseasonably warm days, it got too hot, and the poor babies simply could not recover. We need a “do over” on tomato seed starting.

The new lighting system finally arrived, along with an exhaust fan to pull the hot air out, and all installed without incident. Also added are handmade cedar boxes (raised beds), where he hopes to grow vegetables without squirrel interference. When asked about how the kale is doing, he says, “Oh we’ve got plenty of kale, help yourself.” This he says while texting the electrician as they troubleshoot a situation in the breaker box. We are gardeners, not electricians, and are not the least bit shy about calling in professionals when necessary.

Mr. Gardener is the chief operating officer of the greenhouse. From its genesis, he has been the force behind building and utilizing the greenhouse. My role is merely a supportive one. When he calls, “Babe, can you come hold this for me?” I’m there. Need me to sub in for watering duty? Yep, I’m your gal. Even though this is mostly his hobby, we both reap the benefits.

This season, more than those previous, I’ve been amazed. And it’s the little things that fill me with wonder—the way a tree knows exactly when to push a leaf open, how hosta will shoot up through layers of mulch, or the tiniest seed will grow to be an edible plant for me. How we go from naked trees to pollen-laden cars is bewildering.

I’ve discovered that there is no urgency to uncover all of the perennials in our garden by a certain date on the calendar. There are no gardeners managing the forest floor removing fallen leaves so that the fern can come up. Here’s more good news: plants know exactly what to do and when to do it without our help. I’m reminded of a visit with my friend Lenora Larson, who taught me that plants just want to live. If we learn to give the plant the proper location and decent soil, it will survive.

The botanical world is wonderfilled indeed!

I’ll see you in the garden!

RISE UP