A Magical Mess 🥀✨

March in Texas is very busy in the garden. I always think I have everything under control, and then I turn around and see a pile of things "I'll get to after the winter is over."

December me is always so optomistic.

Also, I have ADHD.

I am a devoted fall girl; it's in my basic spooky white girl DNA, but over the past few years, I have really come to appreciate spring. Maybe it's because for the first time in my life we are getting what some might call "real winters" in my neck of the woods. (thanks, climate change) But after a few months of cold mornings outside waiting for my dog, and views of a landscape in shades of brown, I have been absolutely captivated by the barage of greens that have popped up over the last few weeks.

The mulberry tree in my backyard is the first to pop. Its thin branches bare, until the singular golden morning when I step outside under its awning and see the first tiny buds of green.

Spring has arrived.

And so have the aphids, and the gnats, and the spiders. But no problem at all, we are all equal in the eyes of the universe. At least that's what I tell myself as I fling big spiders over the back fence with my eyes closed.

And so have the butterflies, and the dragonflies, and the lizards. And so many more creatures under the surface, who I may never discover.

So I dig, and I clear, and I prune, and I weed. And the sun pokes its head out from behind the clouds just enough that I feel its glow. My puppy digs alongside me, overjoyed at the fact that this is the one time of year he is allowed to do so. Not a puppy anymore, I should say, for he grows like a weed as the seasons change. We plant the seedlings that we started in January. I always start too many, more than I would ever possibly have room for, because frankly, I know that many of them will not make it. I give them the same "some of you may die" speech that Lord Farquad gives in Shrek, so that they understand what's at stake.

It's not for lack of trying. I promise I do not rejoice in their deaths, but at this point, five years into my gardening hobby, I have accepted it as a part of the cycle.

So we plant the survivors as the sun begins to set.

I hate to admit that I was once a bit of a flower hater. I KNOW. I'M SORRY. But in the first year or two of gardening, I was too practical. Too corporate. I had no whimsy. I thought that flowers took up valuable space that "useful" plants like vegetables and herbs needed instead. I am proud to say I have since come to my senses, and that the flowers are truly my favorite part.

Every empty pot, every garden bed edge or corner, every nook and cranny and bare patch fear me and my seed packets coming. Zinnias, sunflowers, daisies, and cosmos, oh the cosmos, are all planted lovingly and chaotically and watered to their hearts' desire.

Which one is where? Who Knows.

Are they spaced properly? There is really no way to know.

Will the colors go together? Who cares?

Nature does not color coordinate, and neither shall I.

Come May they will start blooming, and the garden will erupt in color all summer long, and my heart will sing every time that I look out a window, that I smell a flower, that I see a bee pollinating.

The only guidelines that I give myself are to try to choose seeds that are generally native to the area, and I do with all of my potted plants and planted trees. There are a few non natives planted before my time, but that's not their fault. I also make sure to plant pollinator plants, because at the end of the day, the flowers are not just for me.

So I stare at my March to-do list, and I sip my coffee, and I think of the joys that await future me. 🌸🦎💕