Spring
came
cautiously
this year.
After the
worst
winter in
decades,
you could
hardly
blame it
for
delaying
as long as
possible.
The week
of the
equinox,
when
spring
officially
started, I
played
golf in
shirtsleeve
weather;
four days
later a
heavy, wet
snow was
falling as
I walked
to the
post
office.
Tulips
were
blooming,
sticking
up out of
the snow
with a
bewildered
"Why me?"
expression
on their
faces as
they
pondered
the
likelihood
that
winter was
coming
back.
Robins
were
equally
perplexed;
instead of
singing to
mark out
their
nesting
territories,
they
seemed to
be
muttering
about the
advisability
of going
back south
again.
It was
mid-April
before
things got
sorted out
with any
degree of
certainty.
The
flowering
trees in
my yard
were bare
on Palm
Sunday;
two days
later,
they were
in full
bloom,
ignoring
the
sequential
pattern I
had in
mind when
I planted
them. The
Bradford
Pears
along Main
Street
delighted
the eye
with
clouds of
white
blossoms,
which
assaulted
the nose
with an
odor
reminiscent
of
week-old
roadkill.
The Icky
Tree
bloomed on
schedule
for
Easter,
but after
that all
of the
signs
indicated
that
spring
would be
abbreviated
on the end
as well as
the
beginning;
temperatures
climbed
into the
80's for
the first
time,
trees
leafed out
overnight,
and we
were
headed
directly
for
summer.
My wife
was ready
for it.
She has
been
making
gardening
noises for
several
months
now; she
was urging
me to get
the plow
going
before the
snow
melted in
February.
Each year
I explain
to her
that the
main
reason for
plowing is
to loosen
the soil
and create
air spaces
for the
roots, and
if it's
wet when
you plow
the soil
actually
gets more
compacted.
I'm not
sure
whether
this
simply
doesn't
register,
or she
forgets,
or perhaps
she enjoys
hearing
the
explanation
repeated…
but
whatever
the
reason,
the topic
seems to
come up
again
every
year. I
did manage
to
convince
her to
wait until
it was dry
enough to
plow this
year, but
the
tradeoff
was that I
had to
fill the
herb
garden
with onion
sets and
radishes.
While I
wait for
the ground
to dry
out, I've
been
thinking
about
gardening.
It is
greatly
misunderstood
by the
public; in
fact, a
multi-million
dollar
industry
depends on
the that
lack of
understanding.
The
advertising
industry
goes to
great
lengths
each
spring to
convince
the public
that a
certain
few people
have the
Gift of
the Green
Thumb, a
kind of
mystical
ability
that
enables
them to
make
things
grow...
something
like the
ancient
secrets of
the
Rosicrucians,
or the
power of
the
Maharishi.
While
things
will grow
like magic
for those
favored
few,
everyone
else must
buy
Miracle
Stuff
Combined
Organic
Fertilizer
and Bug
Killer, or
their
gardens
are
foredoomed
to
failure.
And of
course you
will need
a special
power
applicator
and hose
for the
Miracle
Stuff, and
it will
work
better if
you also
buy the
latest
model of
the
special
self-mulching
tiller
with the
weeding
attachments.
Being born
without a
green
thumb gets
expensive.
The
truth is
different;
growing
things is
simple.
You loosen
the soil;
whether
you use a
hand
spade, a
horse-drawn
turnplow,
a
rototiller
or a 200
horsepower
John Deere
diesel
tractor
makes
little
difference.
You put
some seeds
in the
ground;
experience,
trial and
error, or
reading
the
instructions
on the
package
will
inform you
how deep
and how
far apart
they
should be.
Then you
wait.
A seed
may look
simple
from the
outside,
but on the
inside it
is a truly
marvelous
construction.
The
critical
part of it
is the
embryo,
which is
dormant at
the time
of
planting.
There is
also a
supply of
food,
usually in
the form
of starch,
which will
sustain
the embryo
from the
time it
begins to
grow until
it gets
its first
leaves and
can make
its own
food.
Finally,
there is
the seed
coat,
which
protects
the food
and embryo
from
bacteria
and fungi,
and also
secretes
hormones
that cause
germination
to begin.
There are
also
several
enzymes,
which work
in a
sequence
that
physiologists
call a
cascade.
The right
combination
of
moisture,
temperature
and light
cause the
first
enzyme in
the
sequence
to be
activated;
that
enzyme
activates
the second
one, which
in turn
activates
the third,
and so on.
The effect
is like
tipping
over the
first
domino in
a row.
Suddenly
the
enzymes
are all
working,
the food
starts
being
digested,
the embryo
starts
growing,
and in a
few days a
new
seedling
pops out
of the
ground.
Of
course
there is a
degree of
environmental
chance
involved.
It may
rain too
much or
not
enough;
you will
have to
pull some
weeds and
fend off
some bugs;
you may
have to
put up a
fence to
keep out
the
rabbits or
the
neighbor's
dog. But
the
responses
required
by each of
these
problems
are pretty
self-evident;
anyone
with the
least bit
of common
sense can
manage
them. No
mystical
powers are
involved.
It doesn't
really
matter
whether
you
understand
how the
phytochrome
system
releases
the seeds
from
dormancy
or how the
gibberellin
and
cytokinin
hormones
initiate
the growth
of the
embryo; it
works just
as well if
you simply
regard the
whole
process as
a miracle.
If you
wait a
while, the
plants
will grow.
The
ability to
wait is
the
essence of
the green
thumb;
patience
is the
difference
between
those who
can grow
things and
those who
can't.
There was
a time
when
patience
was a
trait
everyone
learned in
childhood;
when the
only way
to get
from
Emmitsburg
to
Gettysburg
was by
walking or
riding a
horse,
time had a
different
meaning.
It is one
of the
tragedies
in our
recent
history
that the
great
innovations
of the
20th
century
which we
called
"time
savers"
were
really
time
destroyers.
They gave
us instant
gratification
at the
expense of
our sense
of time.
Two
years ago
this
spring, I
found a
Japanese
maple
seedling
growing in
a crack in
the
sidewalk
at the
college.
Knowing it
couldn't
survive
there, I
pulled it
up,
brought it
home, and
stuck it
in a
flower
pot. It
survived
the
winter,
and last
spring I
planted it
in the
corner of
the yard.
Its leaves
shriveled
up and
dropped
off in
last
summer's
drought,
but this
week it is
sporting a
new set of
red leaves
and stands
at least
two inches
higher
than it
was last
year. In
20 years
it will be
15 feet
high and
will
dominate
that area
of the
yard; it
will be
beautiful,
whether I
am here to
see it or
not. As I
watched it
that day,
the idea
occurred
that all
children
should be
required
to plant a
tree on
their
first day
of
kindergarten,
and to
observe
its growth
until they
graduate
from high
school.
Among the
many
things
they would
learn
would be
the
quality of
patience.
There
would be a
lot more
green
thumbs in
the world
if we did
that.