Waking the Garden

 

hydrangea paniculata (not sure which variety)

Walking through the garden this year, there are no bulbs up. Everything is still asleep. Last year was a very early spring after a very warm winter. We had iris reticulata blooming around this week. Not this year. 

This year, all the plants have been asleep under thick blankets of snow. But there have also been plants that want to be awake early, like children on Christmas morning who refuse to sleep in. There have been plants who pulled the covers over their heads, refusing to admit that the sun has risen for the first time in four months.

 

comfrey leaves, melted into a thick mulch over the winter

There are some plants that have chronic bed-head... like this gaillardia. It was stunning in the summertime, and all through the autumn it kept blooming until snow put an end to the show. Now its long stems are tangled up like tumbleweed. At this rate it's hard to imagine it will ever wake up.

 

gaillardia stems from last summer

Then there are those shrubs who look nearly dead, still in repose. Reminds me of a grandparent, asleep in the big comfy chair, unmoving so you check for breathing. Sigh of relief. They're just resting their eyes. They've been awake since it was dark. Sure, sure. Okay. 

It's time to wake the garden and start touching the skeleton leaves that have faced winter winds like a broken umbrella, ribs jutting akimbo. It's time to smell the wet leaves that are half-way to leaf mould. A few weeks from now, bugs will take advantage of the warming sun, and the birds will dart to and fro, making meals of the early gnats and such. For now, the bluejays are staking out their turf. Acting tough like kids in a gang, then freaking out when the shadow of a raven flies overhead. Quick, everyone be cool! 

The compost is still a frozen block of ice. The woodchip pile finally has been rained on enough to freeze solid. It'll be a while before I am making new beds. I need to wake this body so that it feels more prepared for all that lies ahead. Tomorrow I'll spend some time chasing down all the plant tags that the wind has tossed around. Maybe there will be a tiny crocus leaf peeking out?