The Return of Mr. Mulch

Calendars are poor indicators of the actual arrival of seasons -- precise though they may be about the timing of the equinoxes that signal an "official" change point.  There is no shortage of less sensitive, but more reliable indicators.  San Juan Capistrano has its swallows.  The NCAA has its March Madness.  Our local fish store has shad roe.

And I have... Mr. Mulch! 

Mr. Mulch in action

There's no surer sign of Spring than when my normally sane husband resumes his BFF status with the guys down at Bedford Gravel, making several trips there each weekend to have them fill his pickup truck with dark, moist, sweetpeat mulch.
Admittedly, it's much more efficient than hauling back hundreds of those always split and spilling bags of cedar chips from one or another home center which are always too awkward and heavy to lug to the right spot.  This way, he gets to spend hours standing in his truck, shoveling the mulch out into the wheelbarrow and ferrying it to the next naked spot, painting the hills and flowerbeds with a uniform layer of weed-smothering chips.

Mulched Daffodil beds

I have to confess, it's a very satisfying outcome -- one which appeals totally to my compulsion (largely unsuccessful) towards neatness.  It is possible at the beginning of a gardening season, to delude myself that this year -- finally, THIS year -- we will keep the garden tidy and perfectly groomed all summer long.  And the mulch is the gardening equivalent of a good haircut, manicure and pedicure to get it started.  The lines are clean, all flaws -- a few rocks, the last stray leaves from the fall -- are buried, and there are no weeds.  Just the first spring shoots of daffodils,  tucked into their neatly defined beds.


Mulch is a process, not an event.  It takes a good 4-6 weeks to get everything covered.  After 5 years of doing this, there are spots that now have more mulch than soil on them -- so the new layer gets thinner each year.  There are also some spots where weeds have figured out that they don't actually need to root themselves in the soil, but that they can grow just as happily in the mulch itself.  And then there are always a few good rainstorms that redistribute what Mr. Mulch has so carefully spread -- either covering up the very plants we were trying to protect, or washing down onto the path, to be swiftly carried off to burrows by an army of Martha Stewart-inspired chipmunks.

Daylily beds at the top of the hill

But today, all that is yet to come.  For now, I can admire Mr. Mulch's handiwork, as order creeps over the garden, and the canvas is primed for another bountiful year.