It's been a very. long. winter. It started early, burying the garden before I had a chance to do my fall pruning, leaving skeletal rose bushes and still un-harvested brussel sprouts to weather the heavy winter snowfall on their own. I'm sorry. I would have tended to you, but Fall ended early and abruptly.Our back garden is terraced all the way up a steep hill behind the house. This winter, we had so much snow that it obliterated all contours, steps, and -- to the squirrels' dismay -- any trace of buried stashes of acorns.
By the end of February, my yearning for spring creates a visceral need to see colors. The snow is gray, the sky is gray, the smell of the earth is gray, and I'm reminded of "The Color Wizard," a book I used to read to my oldest daughter when she was little. It's about a Wizard named Gray who, tired of the dull colors he saw, caught a rainbow and painted everything around him vivid colors, until the only gray, was "The (name) Gray on his door." I can feel the same need for color -- especially green.
Early March rains submerge many of the roads in our area, but clear the garden of much of the snow. The contours emerge slowly. Another heavy rain on March 10 and we're down to the last couple of gravely piles of crystalized slush. The temperature edges upwards and then, on an almost - warmish March 12th morning, we are finally able to walk up the terraced steps, survey the damage, look for the slight swelling of buds on hydrangeas and viburnum, and note that we have many buds this year on the rhododendron -- a testament to our persistence in warding off this season's famished and marauding deer. 
And then, I spot the green. While making the rounds of the various garden beds, there, peeking up between last year's mulch and a few stray decaying leaves: the optimistic tips of crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips. We will have Spring after all!
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