It is almost that time of year again. I believe the last frosts and frigid nights have come and gone, and my garden is screaming for attention. It is the same ritual for me every year – as soon as the weather breaks and there is no chance of freezing temperatures – my mind turns to my outdoor plants, the garden, and my patio potted plant collection.
There have been signs that spring is officially here. The snowdrops on the left side of my garden have already wilted, the yellow forsythia have bloomed and disappeared, the tulips which I planted in autumn are starting to pop up, and the three lilacs are showing their buds. A few perennials, such as my Dianthus, has resurrected from its winter sleep and will be ready to show itself off in the month of May.
My collection of flower pots is awaiting for me to purchase those annuals which I love to plant in the spring and watch grow during the spring and bloom during the summer. There are four long rectangular pots along the fences awaiting for me to plant the morning-glory seeds which I harvested from the blossoms of last year. The huckleberry bushes seem to be thriving and are simply waiting for warmer weather until they will fill the patio space with their aroma. It is a great time of year, the anticipation, the long cold winter is finally over, a reincarnation of life is waiting.
The panel discussion video “Making, Coding, Writing” suggests that writing is a human endeavor which goes back approximately 5000 years. Making things precedes this. Planting and digging in the dirt has been with us humans since we left the Kalahari hundreds of thousands of years ago. It is in our genes.
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I need to dig. I want to get my hands dirty.
The garden needs me.