One of the best things about living in the land of ice and snow is how exuberantly and magnificently everyone revels in spring. The color green has nothing to do with jealousy here and everything to do with joy and hope and not-being-freaking-freezing-all-the-time.
The instant the bike paths clear and the sun comes out and the thermometer registers above 40 degrees, the people come out. They come out running. They come out biking. They come out walking the dog. They come out pushing a stroller. They come out with bags to fill at the grocery store, they come out in tee shirts and shorts and sandals with socks.
I open the house windows as soon as the temps hit 50 degrees. I have learned not to plant anything before Mothers Day, since, as was proven last night, we can still get frost well into May.
And I start monitoring the garden growth.
I love my neighborhood’s gardening aesthetic and commitment. We are not of the neatly trimmed lawns and tidily organized pathways and bed edgings here on the near-east side of Madison – AKA Hippie Central. No, we are of the wild abandon, the “toss all the bulbs in together” and let come what may.
Increasingly, folks around me are building raised garden beds on any patch of flat ground they can (yards tend more toward the postage-stamp size than the expansive, need an actual lawn mower variety): on the median, in their front yards, in side yards, on top of former driveways.
My garden resides mostly in old kitty litter and construction buckets. Not the most attractive arrangement but what is produced is gorgeous.
So, spring. It’s like Christmas times the 4th of July plus Easter.