It’s
easy, during spring, to forget the long, cold winter. This past one was particularly
miserable, the coldest of my personal experience, though not a record breaker
for the region.
The
plants haven’t forgotten, though, and some are going out of their way to remind
us. But instead of what I expected—missing perennials, damaged shrubs—they are
thriving in a manner never before seen.
Apparently
some species need a deep-freeze to best recharge themselves; a long, hard freeze,
of the type we haven’t seen in many a year. That must be why the lone tulip in
my garden, which was there before we arrived fifteen years ago and has
faithfully put out one perfect lipstick-red blossom each year, suddenly became
two perfect blossoms.
Likewise,
my languishing daffodils doubled in size. They didn’t go so far as to double
their blossoms, but when they came up this year, several weeks late, there were
a heck of a lot more of them. And the lilacs are going nuts!
All
the perennials that predate our residency are huge and lush this year: bleeding
hearts, bergenia, peonies (not yet in bloom, but some of the smaller ones that
held back in the past have sprouted buds); and the undomesticated plants—wild
strawberries, heal-all, dandelions, violets—have carpeted the lawns. Lily-of-the-valley
has become a plague. And the grass got up to our knees before we had a chance
to mow it.
The
only casualty I’ve spotted is the rugosa rose. What started as a single plant
from the nursery mushroomed over a decade into a hedge the length of a car,
taller than a person. But this spring, the entire heart of it is gone, and only
the youngest offshoots survive. Drats on that: Not only is the loss
disappointing, but those things are evil to prune.
It
will be interesting to see how the fruit trees and bushes fare later in the
summer, after several years of bumper crops following mild winters. We’re off
to an iffy start with vegetables, too. No late frost, thankfully, but it’s been
cool and wet for weeks. I think all the grass seed we strewed over a torn-up
area has washed away, and the veggie seeds are either waiting for June to
germinate or have just rotted in place.
I
remain as stymied as before about how our ancestors managed to survive in this
climate. If we had to rely on our own crops with a three-month growing season, we
would surely starve. It’s too bad that cold-loving ornamental perennials aren’t
food producers. Then we’d have something to cheer about during winter’s frigid
months.
