Ghostwater Garden

Marking Time in Zone Five

Today Mark and I walked through snow 6 inches deep to discuss the pruning cuts we will make this year. 

A large watersprout is coming off the yellow delicious apple, and some branches are being trimmed away from the young red oak (the red oak is a volunteer, right on the fenceline but in my eyes of more value than the apple.  Oak trees.  Something about oak trees.) 

We had agreed to a radical reprune of both our apple trees last summer, and now we can't remember just what we had decided to do.  This trip around the yard?  We marked the branches that will be culled with string. 

The crabapple in the side yard we can't agree on.  He feels that it is the shape it needs to be, and it is an attractive vase form, but the branches are low enough to snag you as you walk by, and I keep thinking of talking a three-year plan and shaping it higher.  So far, he is winning on talking me out of this. 

The maples in the front, three of them, are being limbed up.  They are young, less than 16 feet, and I am shaping them tall for their adult presence.  I have shrubs and perennials at their feet that I hope to keep there, given I keep maple limbs high so the light comes in.

The older oak will just get a few dead twiggy limbs trimmed out, and the long narrow limb that is over the drive and that gets broken every time we get a tall truck with deliveries will be removed. 

All this will happen on a weekend, soon, when the temps are above 20 degrees.  Tonight our low is going to be 6 degrees.  We've a bit of time before true spring arrives in the north.

In other news, I took out the week's worth of compost today.  There is a certain satisfaction in watching the bin slowly fill with stuff that is stinky and unwanted, but which will turn into black gold.  With such small steps is a garden made. 

Watch this Space

"If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring."

-Christina Rosetti,
The First Day of Spring

 

In February, the small signs of spring trace their paths upward, toward the warming sun.  Crocus send green sprouts, full of promise.

 

Promise that is fulfilled come March, undeterred by late snows.

Who among us can resist the sweet perseverance of the crocus? 

Groundhog Day

Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

(John Keats, from Fairy Song)

 

Another Year.  I am beginning to think that my garden year begins today.  This is the day that I look at the sun streaming down outside, and see potential.  This is the day that I begin to think about seed starts, and where I might put them, and what I might grow, and maybe this year - I will actually start some.  This is the day (or right around this time of year) when my chihuahua stays out in on the porch in that sun, a tiny solar panel soaking in its generous warmth, until I decide he is insane and call him in. 

The temps here in Michigan are still below freezing, although this week is going to tease us by going all the way to 34F.  I hope the snow is sufficiently deep to stay as ground cover.  It is much more welcome than the faded grass and empty beds. 

And it is yet so long until the ground wakes up.  In March, we will see the crocus, and the windflower will brave its leaves to the air and sky.  In March, the ground will thaw, crumbling into the sweetest tilth you could imagine... a brief moment in time wherein the weeds come up with a gentle tug for as deep as the frost line could reach.  In March, the air will warm and the birds will tug at the dry grass for their nests and the rains will green that grass anew.

But here, on groundhog day, all that seems close and possible again.  I will soon be out, shaping the apple and crabapple trees before the sap begins to rise.  I will soon be out, checking the shoots of the grasses and the dutch iris and the grape hyacinth, those that poke their noses out in fall to be better ready to leap forth come spring, and daily I will check their progress.  I will soon be out.  Soon. 

It's the beginning of my year. 
Happy Groundhog Day!