A Time of Renewal

I love spring. I love the rebirth, the newness, the hope of the season. Winters are hard, and cold, and long. Darkness is a constant companion. But when the equinox announces that spring is near, I rejoice. There is the belief that anything is possible with spring. I can hope, and wish, and dream. The renewal revives not only the land, but also the soul. 

When the ground is still frozen, in some places still covered in snow, I am hopeful. I know that my garden is waiting under the earth, waiting for the warmth of the sun to bring life back to my flower beds. Longer days with warmer winds will herald the new beginning — the beginning of spring in the garden. There is a palpable anticipation of the rebirth that will be forthcoming.

Snowdrops were the first early spring flowers to make an appearance from the cold bare earth, and are always a welcome surprise. Their flowers seem to appear almost the instance that there is enough warmth in the sun to start to warm the ground. Their pure white flowers are my bellwether of the new season.

Bluebells are next with their ability to wander about my garden. They live in the garden, and the lawn, and even between the tiny cracks between the stones that make up my patio. I did not plant them there. Rumoured to be able to fight many dread diseases, these tiny little warriors are welcome where ever they grow. I am always filled with gratitude at their presence, glad that the garden fairies which arrive with the bluebells may have chosen my patch to live in. 

My other garden early-birds are the crocuses, with their bold purple petals surrounding their saffron treasures. These are joyful flowers, the preferred posey of nymphs, which, I suppose if true, have managed to live in harmony with the fairies and their bluebells. I’m not sure that these magical creature actually live in my garden, but I am happy that my spring garden affords them possible homes.

Hyacinth, are the most fragrant of my early bloomers. These are funny plants, all rolly-polly guarded by their spiky leaves. Their curly petals beckon noses closer, as they send off their sweet perfume — a perfume that lasts for weeks, making the garden not only beautiful to look at but also a delight of flowery scents.

Even before the snowdrops and bluebells had sprung from the earth, the irises had started to poke their pointed leaves out of the ground. They were my first arrivals, standing straight, resisting the winds that seek to make them bow to the March’s fury. It took many weeks before their flowers emerged, but was worth the wait. At over two feet tall, these are my stately bearded iris, reminiscent of the purple robes of royalty. And they are truly royal, with their dignified beards and stunning orange tongues. The birth flower of February, they wait until April to show their beauty to the world. 

Not far behind them are the yellow iris that grace the shallows of my pond. They are a profuse bunch, a characteristic befitting a flower representative of such passion and hope. They attract the bees and the dragonflies that live about my tarn. But, sadly, both of my yellow and purple iris are suddenly there, and then mere days later, their beautiful flowers are gone until next year. A flowering season that is far too short.

Next, I noticed the peonies poking their heads up. These are my healing blooms. They gift me with the most fragrant of blossoms, big and showy. They are true white, blush pink, and bold fuchsia, swaying on long arched stems in the drafts of spring. When I look at them, they sooth my worries, and calm my mind. I enjoy nothing so much as watching the busy ants scurrying, gathering nectar on a peony bloom — such industry within such beauty. The peony raise their magnificent heads to the sun, only to be forced to the ground from the showers of spring, scattering their petals on the ground.

My bleeding hearts are competing to be seen amongst the leaves of the day lilies — no flowers for them, not until summer. But the bleeding hearts rise above the foliage, their arching branches laden with beautiful white and pink flowers, catch my eye. So delicate and elegant, their pendant flowers facing the ground, each flower opening to display its beauty within, daintily dangling like a living charm bracelet. 

Allium, strong and straight, their outlandish pompoms blooming above they other spring bloomers.  Allium, my beautiful onion, so prolific, sprouting along the fences of my gardens, keeping deer at bay. A welcome and loved plant to all the pollinators in my garden. What insect could ignore this purple cloud of nectar? 

My beautiful daffodils, spreading in the garden, providing light and beauty therein. Their bold trumpets gently bowing to the ground. They are many, and are said to bring luck to the garden that grows them. I believe that is true, and I feel ever fortunate to have them brighten my patch with their happy nodding heads. They bring me a positive feeling, showing the hopefulness of the new season.

Of all the spring flowers that bring me such joy, tulips are my favourite. Blooming early and lasting ’til summer, they are brightly coloured, tall or short, always a welcome addition, even the errant bulbs that the squirrels have helped to relocate. My red and white tulips, so resplendent in the colours of my flag. Orange beauties bloom along side yellow and pink. There are les tulipes noire in my garden, dark and brooding, which hide among the brighter colours, and surprise me with their sombre hues.

Right now the garden is full to bursting with the waves of colourful spring flowers — tulips, daffodils, bleeding hearts, peonies, iris and hyacinth. As I walk along the path I marvel at them all, how they compete with each other, in a visual cacophony of colour. Tulips with their floppy leaves bowing to the majesty of the straight and empty stalks.

Wait … what? Empty stocks? Nooooo! As I watch my garden, I see a single red tulip waving in the breeze, but there is no breeze. The tulip disappears, forever, with only a an empty still-waving stem remaining. I rush to the spot where my beautiful red tulip was but a moment ago, but the stem is empty with only the half eaten tulip flower head at its feet. The perpetrator is gone, but not forgotten. 

I need to make this flower destroying fiend stop its reign of destruction in my garden beds. Spring is only here for a twinkling, and I have only a short time to enjoy her bounty. I can’t have unbidden garden creatures eating my garden’s bounty — a bounty I have waited to appear for so many dark months.

I rush inside and grab my phone, and search for ways to stop this carnage. I should plant mint — a solution that is too late for this year’s crop. I can “plant” plastic forks, tines up, which seems rather barbaric — I don’t want to impale the invaders, I want to deter them. Leaving forks, tines up is too brutish a solution. I don’t need the blood of my invaders pooling in my garden. 

There are motion activated hoses that profess to deter my garden marauders by soaking them when they are detected in the garden. I wonder how that will work if my pillager is shorter than my flowers, as I didn’t see them in the garden, but saw only the beheading of a beautiful tulip. And did I want a shower every time I walked in my garden? I think not.

I am dismayed. I need better course of action. Then I happen upon the a trusted site. The Old Farmer’s Almanac informs me that I need to arm myself with a brew using cayenne powder — squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits and deer abhor its smell and taste. I need to make up a slurry of cayenne, milk, dish soap, and garlic and spray it on my beloved tulips. This solution can be used immediately, but will get better with age. I set out to create my garden-saving brew.

Before applying it, I decide to try and find out what is attacking my flowers. I have squirrels, chipmunks, skunks, and rabbits in my garden, along with the smaller mice and voles which are too small to attack my tulips. 

At certain times of the year, the larger animals are active in the garden. Squirrels will eat every pear off of my trees. That doesn’t bother me because my pears and undersized and hard, and I know they need to eat. It is the same reason that I feed the blue jays far more peanuts than they can eat — so the squirrels can have a bit of sustenance. My belief is that if I feed them, they will, for the most part, abstain from eating my garden. 

Chipmunks are my busy, busy pests. They spend most of their days chasing each other from garden bed to garden bed. They do become a problem when they eat my ripening tomatoes by taking one bite out of each fruit. But they are not usually a springtime problem. 

Skunks do dig up my garden and lawn in search of their favourite grubs, but I have never found them eating my flowers. My biggest problem with the skunks is their spray. It would be ironic if I was sprayed by a skunk while I was spraying to keep them away. 

Rabbits do like to munch my lawn, which, if the truth be told, is mostly clover. I do not begrudge them their clover. The more they eat, the less I have to mow. They also eat the bottom leaves, and sometimes the stems of my milkweeds, but never every plant. 

Whatever is eating my spring blooms is determined to denude my forest of flowers. 

I carefully walk through my garden beds. I count more than thirty tulips that have been decapitated, some with nary a single petal wilting on the ground. 

What has done this? I ask myself. I don’t bother to consider why — because my tulips are delicious, or how — a set of sharp teeth as is evidenced by the cleanly cut stalks. But what. If I find that answer I will be able to save my spring flowers.

I’m so saddened by the loss of my favourite spring flower that I almost miss the depression in my garden, nestled at the base of a hydrangea bush not yet in bloom. I look a little closer. Fine grey fur surrounds the edge, covered with leaves and grass. A rabbit nest. I leave it where it is, and return to the house. I pour my magic tulip-saving broth down the sink. I suspect the mother rabbit has been eating my flowers. I have reconciled myself to the fact that she needs to eat them more than I need to see them. After all, she has a family to feed.