The schizophrenic spring weather is getting on my nerves. I do appreciate that that this is just the nature of change that it comes in fits and starts, but I can’t help but bemoan the havoc it wreaks on my progress in the garden. I’ll trudge out into the chilly gloom with boots and wool socks, only to be desperately ripping off layers as the sun comes out and ups the thermostat by what feels like 30 degrees. Usually after that the rain will come, or hail, or one followed by the other. Just when a gardener is fully exasperated and ready to retreat indoors a beaten soldier, a rainbow will arch across the sky – ridiculing nature’s way of saying, “ok, ok, just kidding, don’t be so sensitive.” Welcome to spring in Oregon.
But the thing is, tolerating this early season abuse has huge payoffs in the end. I know that by July I will be fully emersed in a garden of gargantuan proportions, thanks to the mild wet winter, and intermittent bursts of rain and sun of the spring. I may even miss the rain – ever so slightly – in the gorgeous, hot summer months when my attention switches from dilligent weeding to assiduous watering. Who am I kidding, really, with my half-hearted complaints? My mud-caked boots (and gloves, and knees) are a testament to my devotion. Annoying sometimes – yes – but weather is hardly going to keep me from my plants.