It happens every year, and yet it never fails to catch me by surprise: the spring rush. Two weeks ago, there was fresh snow on the mountain, and the kids still complained about waking to a cold house. Then, blink! Everything is green and lush. The trees are all leafed out. Last week's blossoms are already drifting away on the afternoon breezes. Soon we will see the beginnings of fruit on the trees. The kids now complain about how hot the house is at bedtime. Most of them are already sporting sunburns, too.
I decided a long time ago that Montana springs/summers (for they truly are blurred together) are a lot like rollercoasters. You've barely sat down and, WHOOSH, you're going full speed. There's not much sense in trying to make a prioritized list of things to do: it all needs to be done right now. Every seed flat needs to be transplanted. Every garden needs planted. Every flower bed needs weeded. Immediately...if not sooner. It's hard not to get that "heart in your throat" sensation one feels as a rollercoaster crests the top of the first rise and begins to plummet.
As plentiful and persistent as the demands may be, the rewards are so much greater. Within weeks, we will be enjoying the first-fruits of the harvest. The gardens will be bursting with life. The weeds will be supplanted by flowers, so that every where we look there will be vibrant color. We will savor and soak in every minute we can, for as someone recently observed, in about four weeks, the days will start getting shorter again.
While I may have a white-knuckled grip during this initial spring rush, I plan to spend as much time as possible with my hands in the air, enjoying the ride.
|Four weeks ago, the chives were nothing more than fine wisps of green.|
|In the north garden, peas are beginning to make their way up the trellises.|
|The east end of the north garden, freshly plowed and ready to plant. Towards the center, the raspberries are already pushing hard.|
|Over 300 little corn plants are now nestled in neat rows in the north garden.|