Pines & Peace; Past & Present

mseddy

February 28

"Acts of creation are ordinarily reserved for gods and poets, but humbler folk may circumvent this restriction if they know how. To plant a pine, for example, one need be neither god nor poet; one need only own a shovel. By virtue of this curious loophole in the rules, any clodhopper may say: Let there be a tree - and there will be one." ― Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There

February and my 60th year on Earth are ending this week, and Spring is in the air...prematurely!
The Iris leaves are 6-8" tall and damaged by the last frost. The Daffodils are 3-4" tall and, as yet, undamaged. Garlic is about 5 inches tall. Daisies and Coneflowers have 2-4 inch leaves. The air is full of birdsong and bird business: Mourning Dove, Robins, Sparrows, Chickadees, Cardinals, Bluebirds, and many others, too many to list, rush about doing spring chores.

As the days grow warm and the soil thaws, it becomes increasingly difficult for me to resist the urge to plant things. Resist I must, though, because it's TOO EARLY to plant outdoors.

Now is a good time to start seeds indoors, when they can be transplanted to the garden in late May/early June. BUT I'm not really good at that, so I'll leave that to my farmer friends with hoop houses; I'll buy seedlings from them in June.

I KNOW these facts, but on days like yesterday, when the temperature climbs to 70 degrees--it's hard to remember! It's hard to be patient!!

I channel my anxious gardening energies into other tasks. I organize the garden shed. I drive stakes into the soft earth easily, creating supports for future Raspberry canes and future Tomato vines, heavy with fruit. I carry the small firepit to a new location on the concrete slab near the back corner of the yard, since the absence of the old Spruce makes it safe to burn there now.

I divide and transplant: Coral Bells, Yarrow, Sedum, Arugula, Garlic Chives, and Thyme. I normally don't rake leaves, but since having the old Spruce cut down and having construction on the house, the ground is saturated with sawdust in some spots, so I rake the grass path to let the plants breathe.

I put out the bird baths and fill them with water. I hang a suet feeder in the Weeping Cherry where the Robins usually nest.

I wonder what the animals think who return, looking for the Old Spruce that welcomed them back for decades, only to find a rock garden with a tiny Japanese Maple tree where the majestic old tree lived with a birdbath on a nearby stump. I feel like I owe everyone an apology--except the neighbors, whose home would sustain serious damage if the next big ice storm caused it to fall. The last two storms had torn it up pretty badly; it was the right--but painful--thing to do.

I move the few remaining logs of the wood pile to a spot under the pine, turn the compost heap one last time, rake it level, and tarp it to let it bake a few weeks before I broadcast grass seed there. Planting grass will be the final step in creating A Grassy Spot for Listening to the Singing Pines. Last year I transformed the previous brush and lawn compost spot into grass, and today I place a wicker love seat there, then sit down to listen.

The wind picks up speed, making ready to storm, so the Pines perform passionately!

Bernie the Dog joins me on the loveseat, and we listen in silence while the wind and pines play.