In the Garden: Spring Equinox

Last night the wind howled, the wind chimes rang all night and the spring rain continued into the morning. I slept later than usual (my day off!) and once awake, I indulged in the pleasure of reading snug in bed with the sound of rain outside. Then I noticed the quiet—the rain had stopped and a pale gray light had entered the room. It was a momentary lull in the storm, so I went straight out to the garden and stepped into the hot tub to soak off the stiff muscles of sleep and winter.??And what a perfect moment it was to be in the garden, soaking in the hot water, surrounded by the dripping, sparkling leaves. As the warm water cradled me, I looked up and noticed that overnight the brown, bare branches of the lilac bushes had grown bright green pointed leaf whorls like tiny twin arrowheads at each of their tips. All along the slender branches of the plum trees, pale green buds had appeared.

The biggest surprise of all was a flock of slender birds (swallows perhaps?) gracefully flying back and forth across the yard, settling for a moment in the photinia bushes, then on to the oak tree, then to the privets, exchanging places as if in a square dance. One group would land in a tree, just as another set out to a neighboring tree. Maybe it was the time of day or the time of year, but I had never seen this particular bird dance before in my yard. It ended moments later, as the squawking jays and crows came in to take over their customary roosts.

The quiet was broken by the occasional ‘plop’ of a fat camellia bloom falling off the bush into the hot tub. Two of the camellias are in full bloom, the deep rose and the pale pink, and they are gorgeous. The last of the daphne blossoms that have perfumed the deck for a month are now almost finished, with pale green leaves taking the place of the fragrant pink flowers. Along the stepping stones, the baby’s tears I planted two years ago have finally established themselves and thrive in the damp shade.

Under the camellia bushes, a carpet of violets flourishes in the deep mulch and occasionally I see the shy purple blossoms peeking out from under the deep green, heart-shaped leaves. Past the camellia bushes, along the side of the garage, the kiwi vine growing on a trellis exhibits swollen nodes along its graceful branches. Across the tiny patch of grass and stepping stones, fragile crystal water drops surround the photinia’s crimson berries. The new flower buds above them are like tiny chartreuse umbrellas.??Beyond the shade of the photinia, where the midday sun shines, the roses have begun to show their reddish new leaves on the rough, pruned stems. Below them, the orange-mint leaves—deep purply-green, and unbelievably fragrant—are emerging from the wet ground. Through the trellis arch, into the easternmost part of the yard, I spot the irises sending fresh new spears of leaves toward the pale sun; one has a fat bud on it.??Back in the house, I open the curtains to view the front yard and discover that the young Elberta peach tree is now covered with tiny, peach-pink blossoms. The garlic I planted last November has started to thicken and grow taller and the little chard plants edging the garlic bed are getting brawnier, waiting for a warmer sun in order to grow taller.

I have eaten several dinners of the small chard leaves this week. For a delicious preparation, I sauté them with olive oil and garlic, then serve it dressed with soy sauce on a bed of brown rice topped with fried cubes of tofu that are seasoned with garlic, ginger and more soy sauce. It’s so simple, so satisfying, and easy on the budget. I make breakfast omelets of fresh eggs direct from Brad's chicken coop, garnished with tender green parsley that survived the winter.

My salads use fresh miner’s lettuce—volunteering on the bank along my driveway, greeting me with their charming round heads as I come home—tossed with some spicy arugula and tangy mustard, which have naturalized everywhere in the yard and seem to be offering themselves in various stages of growth everywhere I look. There is even a borage plant sporting new blue, star-shaped flowers to decorate the salad greens along with tender, delicate white arugula blossoms. Buds are appearing everywhere, baby leaves, tiny blossoms—the garden in rebirth, full of spring promise.

?This spring there will be more light in the front yard, since this past winter I had an oak tree removed at the western corner of my lot. The olive tree I planted three years ago in partial shade now has much more light. (Within two weeks, its branches had grown at least six inches!) As the daylight increases through the season, this little tree will finally have the full benefit of sunshine it needs to spread its branches and thrive—and, hopefully, grow olives.

And along the side of the yard, just past the ever-widening raspberry patch, I had a wild plum removed to make space for a late-blooming peach tree. I optimistically picture it (in two or three years time, of course) laden with juicy summer peaches. My imagination has no limits, but my yard does, so the task for this spring will be to find space for my favorite vegetables and to make sure that they have the best start in life. Towards that end, I will augment the soil thoughtfully, dig the soil deeply, and conquer the impulse to plant too much.