However many years she lived, Mary always felt that ‘she should never forget that first morning when her garden began to grow’.”
Frances Hodgson Burnett, author, The Secret Garden
Ahhhh spring! The time of year when pollen covers the earth turning everything into a hazy yellow, worthy of a science fiction movie. The sneezes escaping everyone who is allergic to nature. When bees decide to mate and build their short-lived homes and we disturb their rituals when we garden, and they dive bomb our heads in reaction to our innocent digging. The time of year that, as it warms, we wander around our homes sniffing because we suddenly detect not fresh air, but a musty, damp odor. What IS that smell?
Spring is practically dangerous for me because the season is like a euphoric drug. I hallucinate; I begin to see flowers growing in my garden, trees budding before turning a lush green. I hear birds singing symphonies within the trees before grazing the ground in search of seeds and worms. I see more daylight and wonder: what IS that bright, yellow light that appears earlier and remains until after eight p.m.? I feel warmth upon my skin, and I shed my sweater rather than search for its comfort.
I then become like a crazy person. I go out early in the morning—BEFORE I put on makeup (gah!)—and begin to dig in the dirt. I sprinkle seeds with the hope they will eventually appear as something colorful, shapely, and smelling sweet. I text my friends: I planted 29 packets of seeds this morning! because I just…cannot…stop.
Rose and rhododendron bushes begin exploding with flowers. And then, like parents with their cute children, I whip out my cell phone and begin snapping photos of my babies. Because yes—they are SO cute! Other plants begin popping through the ground, plants I don’t recall planting, and I wonder what they are. Some elude my pulling; others don’t make it through the first round if they even hint they are a potential weed ready to choke my newly planted babies. Gardening is truly a marvel.
As if planting seeds isn’t enough (is it ever?), I buy more plants for my containers because now that I’m sitting outside, I need flowers. My husband disagrees, using the same argument we have for the number of my shoes, but honestly—can we ever have too many plants, let alone, shoes? I think not.
Therefore, I am not done. But with all the gardening, digging, and lifting this week, my body needs rest. I will take it as slow as I can, but my obsession to surround myself with flowers is mental. Just as summertime beckons many to the beach, spring beckons me to the garden. Seeds need time, but I know my wildflower garden will soon be full of beauty. All the hard work is worth it. And if I forget, I look at last year’s photos and coo over my beautiful babies.
