Impatient for spring

Like a petulant child, I want it now. Spring.

After a particularly rough winter, our yard feels a bit battle-worn — beds thinned out, pots emptied of those brave souls that didn’t survive the long freezes. It’s time for reinforcements. Fresh recruits. New life.

I tour the yard, looking for signs of life. I comfort the bougainvillea that has had an aggressive pruning and encourage it to fight. I am not hopeful. The empty pots sit expectantly, waiting to be filled with color again. And right on cue, the garden centers are ready — piles of mulch and soil stacked high, bright blooms practically begging to be taken home. Hard to resist, and I don’t.

One of the first promises of spring arrives in vivid red — the bottlebrush blooms reaching skyward like tiny fireworks. Time to dust off the hummingbird feeders. Right on schedule, the tiny visitors return, drawn to those flashes of red, darting and hovering as if to confirm that yes, the season has begun.

Here in the South, spring unfolds at its own gentle pace. Azaleas lead the parade, dotting the island with bursts of pink, coral, and white. Then, almost politely, the rest follow — each plant taking its turn in the spotlight and settling in for a long, hot summer.

Opening the house, welcoming the fresh spring air, and enjoying the music of spring. Birds chatter and sing with urgency, pairing off and building nests. Squirrels and rabbits scurry with purpose, quietly preparing for new families. Our dogs, ever optimistic, give chase to these quick-footed visitors, but remain unsuccessful.

The trees, too, begin their transformation — bare branches fill with leaves, softening the landscape. Our thoughts return to our Northern springs, which seemed to inch along. The first bloomers: fruit trees bursting into clouds of blossoms, deep purple lilacs perfuming the air, and daffodils and tulips pushing through the soil waiting for their turn to bloom. Those much-welcomed springs felt like a hard-earned reward after long, punishing winters. Our island springs come with a bang, seemingly overnight. We usually go from gentle spring days to the full brunt of summer heat.

So in this season of renewal, take a moment to savor each small gift spring offers.  And perhaps try to overlook the ever-present pollen that dusts every surface and tests our patience. At the end of the day, sitting on the porch as the light fades, I sometimes feel as though the garden is smiling back — grateful for the attention.