Waiting for spring to flower

My across-the-street neighbor Rob Phillips had a recent column about eagerly waiting for spring, with its turkey-hunting, fishing and other outdoor activities.

Now, Rob's a great guy. He's a wonderful writer, too. I read him regularly, even though my enthusiasm for hunting and fishing is thimble-sized, because he tells me things I didn't know in an interesting way. He gets lots of humor in there, too. I appreciate his viewpoint, but really! There wasn't a thing in there about spring flowers (maybe because his column appears in the Sports/Outdoors section).

I pine for spring, too, but not for hunting and fishing. Well, unless you count the Costco salmon on the barbecue. That's when you have to decide if that first barbecue of the season, and dining on the patio in the balmy spring breeze, is really worth wearing a sweater and eating fast before the food gets cold.

Right now, the trees are bare and the grass is a gloomy yellow-green. The only sign of life in the yard comes from the tiny birds fluttering around the arbor vitae hedge. And they're only there because we feed and water them.

Somebody's huge cat adds life, of course. He slinks around after the birds. Supercat leaped up and tore a hole in the hanging finch-feeder sock. He sits right in front of the electronic cat-repeller we bought for him, and doesn't move a muscle. Evidently, he has enough fur in his ears to block the high-pitched tone that's supposed to send him running. The closest our cat wanted to come to him was from a comfy windowsill, with double-pane glass between them. But I've never seen him catch a bird, so I guess I should be grateful for the life he adds to the dead backyard.

I hunger for that season when we have to decide if the leaf-rust in the maple calls for a visit from the tree doctor. If the grass needs professional help, or if Russ flinging the fertilizer like medieval man sowing his barley field will do the job. If we should have the arbor vitae trimmed right now to look nice, or save money by waiting a little longer and having it trimmed in midsummer. Shaggy in May and June, or shaggy in September ... decisions, decisions!

What I really yearn for are the flowers. Sure, grocery stores have pots of spring blooms from January on, but that's not the same. They have to be my own flowers.

Each season has its specialties to anticipate. Summer roses are a treat for both the eyes and the nose, and I like to add a new color each June. Hanging planters of fuchsia and bowls of begonias in the shady area of the roof overhang give me pleasure each time I open the front door. Old-fashioned snapdragons and daisies bob in the warm breeze, a memory of Grandma's garden. The garage door is flanked by tubs of perky petunias and trumpet-shaped Mandevilla flowers, after I finally called uncle on clematis. I gave them six years of my life and they never flourished. I'm sure jerking them out by the roots gave me as much pleasure as Russ got from murdering my hollyhocks. Now I just buy fast-growing Mandevilla vines every spring, and by midsummer they're up to the garage eaves.

Early fall has autumn-hue chrysanthemums and soup bowl-size dahlias. Sunflowers may be sagging and turning into birdseed, but they're good for a little while longer. So are the gladiola. Out front is an illustration of that old song, "The Last Rose of Summer."

Winter is bleak. The autumn leaf arrangement from Thanksgiving crinkles and decorates the carpet. The Christmas poinsettia finally dies. The Christmas cactus draws the curtain on its midwinter miracle.

I wait for spring, and signs of life poking up. Those shrubs I ordered from the back of the Sunday supplement looked like dead sticks when they arrived. They didn't improve when I put them in the ground, and by autumn I couldn't even find where I'd planted them. Maybe spring will transform them into the Ever-Blooming Lilac and Hardy Giant Hibiscus I bought.

I examine the tulip tub and flower plot outside the kitchen window daily. Yep, there comes a little green spike of tulip. Then a bulbous hyacinth. Then some daffodils. Pretty soon it'll be time to set out petunias to fill in the empty spots where those darned Ever-Blooming Lilacs and Hardy Giant Hibiscus should be.

Will those exotic things I bought last year return ... the Ozark and African Monkey daisies? They had such cute names I couldn't resist them. They're supposed to be perennial, but my black thumb often turns perennials into annuals.

I guess I have a little bit in common with neighbor Rob after all. He hunts turkeys; I hunt green sprigs, but they're both outdoor activities. Afraid there's no commonality in fishing, though.

Wait a minute. Isn't fish one ingredient of a really good flower fertilizer?

* Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters.