Oh, come ON, spring!

Since I wrote about how crappy the Februarys are around our house, it's rained heavily (exposing grass and all), frozen, snowed, blowed, snowed and snowed some more. Also, frozen more. And it's going to do it all again tonight.

This is no way to treat little crocuses. Those sad little things are trying so hard to make their March 4th deadline! I do not doubt for even an instant that they're struggling to poke through the ice and frozen earth.

ps. I don't know what is going to happen when I do finally lift the boughs and find ... dirt underneath. It may actually drive me out of my gourd. You never know.

C'mon, spring!

We think we may have a very bad case of the Februarys casa inconsistent and sweary. It's unbelievably hard to get out of bed in the mornings and it's no easier to get anything done around the house in the evenings, either. In fact, I'm not getting anything done at work right now.

The little daffs are still abloom, but rapidly fading. There is another week before the magical March 4 crocus date. What shall be done to keep us going in the meantime? Let alone what will happen when I remember that summer, the real deal, doesn't get to us until JULY.

All I can say is: COME ON, spring! Do that springing thing!

In the nature of a confession

Last summer, someone passed some grow lights on to me. They'd never used them & I'd been mumbling about my desire for all-weather salads for a while. I thought grow lights would be the answer.

I haven't ever set them up. This is definitely not the way to make all-weather fresh arugula. I had a dream that I could "clean up" the basement and set up a nice little table of plants down there. They could get the fake sun I provided and all would be well. But cleaning up the basement isn't trivial. There's a cat who thinks it's all hers, all the time, for starters. And, for some reason, even though we hate the thought of moving ever, ever, EVER, we have been keeping boxes. Pretty much any time we get something that comes in a box, the box gets lovingly put downstairs on a shelf. I grant you that this is insanity.

But it's my insanity, dagnabbit and it's what I have to start from.

Right, back on topic now.

Indoor planting using grow lights. I would like to do it. I would like to have pretty little lettuces sprouting. I would like to have fragrant basil and chives and parsley. I feel that it should be not only possible, but not difficult to make this dream a reality, but I don't even know where to start.

Where could I put these plants? Where could I put the lights? What would help me remember to water them, frequently? What would help me remember to pinch off their leaves so that they grow bushy, not leggy? What would help me remember to raise the lights appropriately? How can I save them from the cat?

I don't know the answer to any of these questions. I just think that, as a smart person of resources, I should finally confess to being completely incapable of managing even this simple task.

That's how I got to be the inconsistent gardener, I guess.

cheating, again

I got some bulbs in a pot the other day. They are just starting to bloom, much to my delight.

My poor crocuses, the ones I am relying on to be out in 3 weeks, are under several feet of snow. I don't know if that much snow can melt in the next 3 weeks. I need some reminders of the coming spring. I desperately need some reminders of the coming spring.

Sure, I had my cheater's trip to California, but it was short. While it is nice to see things in bloom, it's not the same as seeing things blooming. I do like to see the change; I like to see the flower break through. It's nice to see the flower, but watching it emerge is just fantastic.

Blog? Yes, this was a blog once.

I admit ... I don't have anything to say. Like many gardens in North America to the east of the rockies, my garden is all snow at the moment. Deep in the stuff, which is falling, rain-like from the sky even as I type this.

However, I do wish to return to being a blogger. It does make one a more active gardener (the pressure of needing to have something to write about is strong). It also might eventually (if I ever edited) make one a better writer. And the only way to be a blogger is, well, to blog.

I went to California last week (as one does) and there, the cherries were blooming and the beard irises were maybe even not too far from finishing. I was very impressed. I can't imagine trying to figure out how to garden in a new climate. I mean, at first, when I finish digging out the 2 feet of snow before getting on an aeroplane to the other side of the continent, what I think is: WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE LIVE HERE? But I know that in August, it can be continually cold where I was. And that it can go for months without raining. And that it can get to be too hot, for weeks on end. And then I try to imagine what it would be like to work out when to plant what. And, indeed, what I would have to give up.

Things like tulips, maybe. They grow naturally in the dry mountains of Khazakstan. They need hot, dry weather after blooming (not really something I can provide in my Atlantic garden) but they also need a cold, dormant period.

I couldn't possibly give up tulips. I have been reading Anna Pavord again and the result is that I am coveting more gardening space. I am not sorry to live in this land of real winter. It doesn't trouble me that I cannot grow palm trees in my garden. It doesn't trouble me that in January there is no possibility of gardening (unless I feel like putting in a greenhouse, which I do, but for which I lack funds). But it does trouble me that I don't have a garden. I have a strip of dirt between my house and the sidewalk and it brings me joy. I do not have a place to go and meditate on the passing of the seasons. I do not have a space in which to putter away mild spring evenings, worrying about the health of the pampas grass.

Some day, I think I will have such a thing. And I will neglect it terribly when it needs attention, just as I do my tiny strip. That's what inconsistent gardening is all about.