A March Morning's Madness...

Dear Maria,

Now I know the fever has struck. At first light—well, to be honest, some minutes past so that I can see—out back I go to check the stuff planted by my hand. Yes, yes, I know each plant and each tree comes into leaf on its own schedule, but I can’t help but study them one by one for the first sign that this spring is unsprung. I squint. I let my focus go soft. I hold stems against my palm to search for the tiniest change, a hint of green or a dog ear where a leaf may soon appear.

My loropetalum bloom so far ahead of the others plants that I almost ignore how thick they are with flowers despite our cold and ice last month. No, each day I have to look for the slightest sign of new growth—several times a day. I study each shoot, each branch, all the while knowing the sequencing in my garden. Plum blossoms, which are opening, then roses will come, and then later lantana and plumbago and the crape myrtle will begin anew.

While transplanting so much earlier in the month, I was reminded of the varying soil quality across the yard where once a pool was planted. The rains last spring and early summer compressed the soft sand at the deep end so much that I am considering a load of topsoil or creating a small pond. Max would approve that decision most likely. I keep turning good, rich dirt in one area and then rocky soil in another. Of course, there is the sand pit that is subsiding slowly.

So, I made my choices plant by plant and each will thrive given my decisions and genetics and the weather.  A part of a plumbago broke off during transplanting, and rather than toss it onto a pile of limbs and let it go, I dug out a spot by hand over by the stump of the willow oak and now in the ground it sits. I study it awfully intently, and I think it shows signs of life.

I know what you are thinking. Funny, but no, I don’t take my reading glasses out into the garden with me. Yet.

Of course, over the years I have learned that unless I really make some bonehead decision—and it has certainly happened—most of the plants and trees will mostly survive just fine. Each to each, in its own time. The first knockout blooms are nearly ready, the pear out front needs another week or so, the new Rose-of-Sharon has its first green leaf. One elm is leafing out nicely, another not a single hint of green is showing.

I guess you saw that I had to make a few comments about applying the value-added-method to education on Facebook. Go ahead and laugh, but I keep vowing to say nothing more about education. Well, maybe after some words on charter schools.

Besides, parents and teachers quite naturally will know how to recast my thoughts about my garden’s children.

Be well, be patient, and all unfolds. Yours, srk