Gleanings from the Editor

I’m convinced it’s going to be a great spring. I don’t know when my garden has been so wet. Even after all the rain, I hesitate to wish for a sunny day. I don’t want another summer like the past two!

But already in February, the daffodils and jonquils are blooming; the roses are putting out new growth even though we continue to have freezing nights; and everything has a nice greenish glow.

One of the nice things about this colder winter is that we’ve gotten some time off from the garden. That we can garden year-round in Texas is something of mixed blessing. As I write this, it is windy and rainy. Although dandelions are getting way ahead of me, I don’t have to feel guilty about not being out in the garden. It’s just too cold.

So when I do go out, it is a treat and not a chore. It is exciting to see what’s popping through the mulch and even if it is a dandelion, the ground is so soft, I won’t have trouble popping it out!

Gardening is one of the things that keeps me optimistic. I can always find something to be depressed about — bills, pollution, traffic, and on and on — but gardening is cheerful. Even when you’re working hard, sweating profusely, cursing vigorously, there is something uplifting about the process. It is positive activity. You know that at the end of your labors, there will be flowers or fruit or shade or herbs or just a green spot free of weeds.

So much of what we do has an unknown result — Lord knows we can’t predict how our kids will turn out or whether our work is doing anybody any good. We write letters to the editor and wonder if anyone cares. We sign a petition and never know if someone in power sees it. We send email and haven’t a clue as to whether it reaches anyone or not.

Certainty in an uncertain world is a comforting thing. Knowing that an action has a direct result is encouraging. That’s why gardening is such good therapy for some people. We know that if we stick a plant in the ground and water and feed it, it will more than likely grow. Oh sure, sometimes an armadillo digs it up and it dies, but even that is unequivocal. There’s no question about it. It’s dead.

So I know it’s going to be a great spring. I may lose some plants to neglect or bugs or armadillos, but I’ll also have some homegrown tomatoes (even if I have to get them at the farmer’s market) and that cheers me up just thinking about it.