Not Spring Yet...

The last stubborn snow pile on the
Andromeda in the shadiest spot at the rear of the house.

Technically, it's not Spring until Sunday.  That means that since the snow has retreated -- well, in most parts of the garden -- we have two days to finish the Fall cleanup that was interrupted by an early snowfall.  As a result, the anticipation of a new gardening season is tinged with shame upon discovering what slackers we were last October.





Nasty piles of sodden leaves test the vigor of the first spring shoots, forcing them to strain and contort themselves to poke through the wet blanket that January left behind.  

The hellebores seem to be working particularly hard.  Perhaps I shouldn't have cut the old leaves off last week; it was just such a lovely weekend, and my pruning sheers took on a life of their own.  But the result was that the new bracts emerging look as wet and vulnerable as little baby birds.  I know that these are really tough, almost arrogant plants -- toxic to deer and most other critters, arriving early and staying even through the worst summer heat -- and once established, they're pretty indestructible.  But right now, they look like they need to be diapered and swaddled.

Perky little garlic sprouts this
year from fall planting

It's a time for impatience in the garden.  Not impatiens -- they come much later, once it warms up for good -- but for being antsy at what feels like the glacial pace of growing things.  In truth, things are sprouting quickly, but all that does is whet my appetite for full scale blooming and getting the vegetable garden in.  

Sad looking brussel sprouts
 from last year

In our early years of growing veggies, it seemed easier to follow the unofficial rule that "the peas should be in on St. Patrick's Day."  This winter, and several of the recent ones have been so wet for so long, that the only thing we can remotely hope to see in the raised beds by March 17 are the first tentative signs that the garlic we planted in the fall is still alive.  That, and the sad looking brussel sprouts we never got around to harvesting.

Desolate though it may look at this time of year, there's also a clean-slate sense of excitement as we plan the jigsaw puzzle of what gets planted where... and when.  A glimmer of hope that if we move the tomatoes a few beds, maybe the tomato hornworms won't find them this year, though I swear there's a bug newsletter that goes out announcing that "This year, for a limited time only, Hallberg heirlooms are available in beds 3 and 4; broccoli in bed 6."  But more about them next August when I go worm hunting.  For now, it's back to impatience.  As soon as the seeds arrive, we'll start some of them indoors to get a jump on the planting.  For now, we'll clean up the empty beds and plan...

The raised beds, in their pre-season emptiness