Spring needs inches

to wonder, and not yet work

I am sitting in the garden again, taking it all in. Eager to be outside, eager to begin. But today I am not here to do, I am here to be. In this part of early spring, there is an underlying desire to move, but I quell that impulse with the simple act of observation.

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It is hard for my eyes to focus on the white of my paper as I write, the sun reflecting like a mirror off the page. So I close my eyes and momentarily let my other senses lead. I feel the gentle spring breeze, that still holds a slight chill, but the strength of the sun quickly cuts through it. I hear bird calls - a cardinal far off, the juncos closer, now a tiny chip chirp just over in the arborvitae. I open my eyes to find the source, and it takes a bit of adjustment to the light and craning until I see him in between the branches: a chickadee. But he doesn’t stay for long. A quick few bobs of flight and it is hidden in the neighbors hedge. Suddenly then a flurry of feathers above me in the pine, the male cardinal sends out his song.

The sound of passing cars and my children playing drown out the birds, so I feast on the changing understory. I look around at the varying places and shapes of green shoots beginning their journey. I make a mental note to pull some of the daylilies along the edge of the yard, where I want to put a pollinator shade garden. I see little glimpses of other perennials I planted last year, perhaps the coneflower? It may be too soon to tell.

Feeling restless, I take to meandering. I note the buds of the lilac and the currants and gooseberries are starting to leaf out. Clumps of soft fern-like yarrow, dandelions and Siberian squill with their blue buds beginning to unfurl. Things I don’t want are coming up also, like the dames rocket I weed out year after year, and the creeping charlie and bellflower, and the hoards of maple sprouts that would turn our whole yard into a forest if I didn’t pull them.

But all these things can wait a bit. Besides for the two rows I will plant with early spring crops - peas, radishes and spinach - I will wait to clear and clean anything else, despite my desire to dig in to the cold rich earth. I know the longer I can tolerate the “mess” the better off most living things will be.

Things like the countless pollinators who I want to thrive.

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I have wholeheartedly been embracing the weather of spring this year - the sudden lurch forward and the backwards slide. How does the garlic fair against the snow, I do not know. How do the burrowed insects decide when to emerge, and what sparks the plant to start again is only a guess to me. But it is a wonder to watch, every iteration of spring, from the frozen ground 70˚ day that brought the rabbits flitting and flirting in our front yard, to the snow coated songs of the robins.

Such small minds sometimes, us humans. Everything in us wants to control, clean up, move on, get ready, go. But spring needs inches. Tiny steps forward and back, change in increments. And every day longer I wait to “organize” things is one more day the ground nesting bees have to emerge when they feel ready.

though its a little out of focus, this little mining bee wasn’t too pleased with me clearing a row for the radishes

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I found this great resource if you too, are wondering should I be working in my yard now? - Don’t Spring into Garden Cleanup Too Soon

happy spring noticing