I find myself gardening with my fingers permanently crossed -- hoping I don't step on the first sprig of clematis probing through the mulch, hoping the new Chinese tree peonies we planted last fall survived the winter, hoping I remember what the hell I planted over there, and hoping I get the pruning right this year so maybe, just maybe, the hydrangeas will bloom once again.
This year, with more time available, I'm trying to get out in front of some of the preventable threats. I treated the roses to an early systemic potion designed to help them ward off the sawflies that make doilies out of their leaves. I pruned the rhododendron and andromeda assiduously so they can focus their energies on the hardiest stems. But there's only so much even a vigilant gardener can control. Weather, bugs, and garden invaders operate on their own agendas and generally at cross purposes with mine.
At this point, it's way too soon to tell how it will turn out. So I'll salute each arrival with optimism, faith, and that thing with feathers* -- hope.
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| Garlic has awakened from its winter slumber |
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| Hydrangea are leafing out |
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| Tarragon wakes up in the herb garden |
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| The new tree peonies made it through the winter |
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| Solomon Seal rises on the mound |
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| I think these are some kind of iris, but damned if I can remember what I planted here! |
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| Geraniums return to the front garden |
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| And, best of all, the asparagus are up! |
*and apologies to Emily Dickinson
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