Days are finally warming. Finally, I say finally! It’s the time of the year, when the tiny tuffs of emerald green along the roads speckle their way out into fields and replace the bronze of winter giving hope of the upcoming summer.
I can’t hardly wait to work in the yard. Do all the things that look so easy in the seed catalogs. Just plant and stand back as the seeds pop one day and the next you have huge trees or shrubs or be still my heart, huge red ripe tomatoes. Come on green, spread faster.
I stepped out of the dark tunnel of my house and into the yard that has also felt the warmth coming. That’s where I ran into the same problem I let go last fall. The grass, that pretty green stuff that I wait all winter to show up along the road beds, is filling in my flower beds. Yes grass has crept in between the daffodils and skirted its tillers and rhizomes in and around places where grass is not welcomed. Here is the question of the ages concerning grass. Why is it that gardeners will always have trouble growing grass where they want it to grow and at the same time it grows happily in places where they don’t want it to grow? That my friends is an unanswerable dilemma. This year? Oh I have a plan.
I have a wonderful lawn so the first half of that question is not my problem. It really is that second half, why does grass grow where I do not want it to grow? And because I let it go last year, this year I will have to attack it with abandon. Especially if I want my Johnny-Jump-Ups to thrive. So they aren’t choked out by sneaky grass with all its fingers that grow as fast as I can open a tiny peanut butter cup and gobble it down. I have to tell you I can accomplish that task pretty dang fast.
I have a plan. But! Yes a grassy green “but.” First before stepping into spring I need to actually go outside and get my winter lazy back and legs ready to get into positions where they will scream and shout at for the first few outings into my yard. That’s something accomplished slower as the years come and go. I look forward to being able to bend and stretch again though. This past week I have gotten ready to begin my plan to beat the grass to the punch.
I will get out there and start to dig it out before it wakes up and begins to journey across the beds where it is an unwanted guest. I can do this. I actually went out two days ago to start my dig.
That’s right. I got my cute little garden gloves out of the closet. The ones that have little blue flowers printed on soft material that feels warm on the back of my hands pulling them on. Gloves that have rubber nubber fingers that will protect my so lovely short and craggily fingernails of winter. Yes, gloves that will also protect me from skittering spiders that run from my miniature garden shovel and claw like thingy. Ready. Set. Out I go.
Now you have to know that we all do this. Get itchy gardening fingers. We’re ready to go because what we see out the window is that the sun is shining. If you have finally opened a window that has been closed up tight to keep out ole man winter, you may just hear a birdie twittering calling you to come out and play. It is a right of spring, our want need and desire to go out and get dirty. That was my plan. With gloves on I went out and found my shovel. With the determination of a kid digging that last Twinkie out of the box, I headed out to dig out the old grass of last fall.
When I slammed the shovel down to get a good deep start I found the ground in my neck of the woods is still frozen hard as a pint of ice cream just out of the freezer that you stab at with a spoon. Oh, not just frozen, nope, there wasn’t even a little bit of mush on top to let me wiggle my shovel down and get a little scoop. It was frozen hard as a hard hat sitting strong on top of a miners head. I’m telling you my shovel bounced back in horror. I think it even swore a few colorful words at me. No, that was me.
Trina lives in Eureka. Her new book, “They Call Me Weener” is available on Amazon.com or email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com to find out how to get a signed copy.
