By KAREN MADORIN
A favorite page updates me daily on how many days remain til Spring arrives; however, I don’t need notices because friends post photos of budding trees and blooming crocuses. Lengthening sunshine, robins appearing, and sandhill cranes winging north direct me to search for sprouting tulips and daffodils as well as evidence of last fall’s scattered seeds germinating in our flower beds. These may not flash neon, but hints that spring lurks around the corner pop up daily in our yard.
One clue is a crazy tulip ring our two little granddaughters and I planted two falls ago that recently thrust a couple of inches of pointy green leaves through crusty soil. The wacky orb we three girls created that afternoon is as jabberwocky as it was the day we planted it despite me urging little blondes to keep it straight. I’m so glad natural inclinations took over, leaving intriguing protuberances and indentions in our masterpiece. That crazy shape adds so much joy to the blooms and reminds me of blessed time with loved ones new to digging orderly holes and burying bulbs.
Last fall, to complement the tulips, I tucked in a line of daffodils along a patio where we set bird baths. The stems haven’t emerged but bulges reminiscent of gloriously pregnant bellies tell me I’ll see green any day. I can’t wait to watch breezes make ruffled, yellow cups dance and invite neighborhood bees to hide inside.
After inspecting this emergent behavior, I checked last year’s flower bed to see what magic had worked it way to the surface. Sure enough, bachelor button leaves stretch toward sun rays along with tiny sprouts still too small to identify. I intentionally flung seeds of flowers I saw hummers or butterflies visiting last summer into every bed in the yard. Here’s hoping their blooms invite scores of favorite visitors.
To guarantee we’ll have ample nectar and pollen to entice more guests, I picked up seed packets at a local store. Now that some of last fall’s seeds have shot up tiny, curled leaves, I’ll add new varieties to the mix. If long term forecasters hit their mark regarding moisture predications, we’ll enjoy action in the flower garden until next fall’s first hard frost.
As protection for bees and other pollinators through the winter, we leave dead and decomposing stalks, stems, and leaves to cover overwintering pollinators. As a bonus, birds we feed hide in the tumbled piles from a Cooper’s Hawk who passes through at least one a week seeking dinner. I’ve started cleaning a few of those to prepare our potato plot for planting somewhere around St. Patrick’s Day. It takes all my patience to keep from rushing to clear everything to bare soil. I’m so ready to garden, but we still have frigid temps ahead and pollinators need any help we can offer.
Though I love autumn best, thoughts of giving myself a tilled-soil French manicure sets every eager-to-plant nerve in me on fire. When Spring lurks, more patience exits with every warm breeze.