Wait, little garden, wait. It’s not April even though the weather makes us feel like May.
New bulb shoots are popping up all over, which is fine, but you’re also blooming like preteen girls at a party, and there’s no music yet.
Wait, little garden, wait.
No, sweet daffodils, it’s not yet time even if you’re very cold hardy. Please wait . . . and tulips, don’t even think about sending up flowers yet. You can’t stand a sustained low of 27F like we had this morning.
Wait, little garden, wait. Spring’s youth flirts with you, dizzying your thoughts with blue skies, soft rain and heady temperatures. He is only playing with you and telling you lies. Winter isn’t finished with us yet.
No, roses, I won’t buy you tender annuals and perennials to place at your feet. I don’t care if the big box stores are already selling them for winter weary gardeners. Buying them is like wearing sandals in the snow. They’ll freeze.
Instead, keep your leaves tightly wound. Don’t even unfurl them. No, you can’t have Mill’s Magic Rose Mix until the end of March. You have good soil. You’re not starving. It’s simply not time. I will clip you back, but only take this as a sign of good things yet to come.
Wait, little garden, wait. I have so much to do to prepare you for spring. Easter is late this year, but it will come.
Don’t be fooled by early spring’s pretty glances. We’ll have yet another freeze. It’s only early March, and we’ve much more cold before Ole Man Winter is through with us.
Wait, little garden . . . wait.