Midsummer Doldrums in the Garden

Remember when it didn't seem as if spring would ever come - when it seemed as though if you couldn't get out and work in the garden you'd burst with frustration? This year seemed harder than ever, since many of us had a false and very early spring - sometime in February. Then, on the very day the calendar said spring was officially here temperatures plunged well below freezing, taking a few of our plants with them.

But the days finally came when we could get out there and garden to our hearts' content. Even weeding and raking the winter debris out of the bed seemed joyous. Actually getting dirt under our fingernails was a major thrill. And blisters? Positive cause for celebration.

And then there was the thrill of looking out on the front porch mornings to see if the plants I had ordered over the winter had arrived yet. That first box was better than Christmas. All these little treasures - there in my hand and yet more promise than actuality - all waiting to be fitted into the beautiful picture I hoped to paint on my landscape with living materials.

Every morning was special - I couldn't wait to race out the door and see what was new. And in spring, there is always something new in the garden. Sometimes I could get new and different surprises morning, afternoon and evening. Springtime is the time when you know without any doubt why you garden. Even the bad days are simply excuses to get philosophical. Having to wait out a spring rain simply means the flowers are getting watered without our having to haul the hose. Unexpectedly cold days may simply mean that spring lasts longer - and who can object to prolonging that magical season?

So how did I get from all this joy to these dreadful doldrums? Well - I'll tell you.

There came a day when too many boxes appeared on the front porch. This may sound like an odd complaint, but I kept getting boxes of plants from various companies who wanted me to grow them and write about them.

I never thought I'd object to free plants, but unfortunately, I have a conscience. So when a box with what looked like a dozen chrysanthemum plants appeared on the porch I cussed mildly, wondering what I was supposed to do with 12 of them, when one might have been sufficient. Then I opened each bag to find not one but FIVE plants in each container.

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