When the Snow Finally Melts

The last of the snow banks melted today. I treasure the unveiling of the garden. Out I went to cut back little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) and maiden grass (Miscanthus sinensis ‘Morning Light’). Their rusty orange and blonde stems, so majestic in the fall, are now toppled and sad, flattened against the

Little Bluestem

ground by months of a four-foot icy white cover. Although my usual preference is hand tools, I reach for electric hedge trimmers to give the tough stems of Miscanthus sinensis ‘Morning Light’ a haircut. I learned this tip from my friend Terri, with whom I shared divisions of the plant when I moved away from Pennsylvania. Then when I returned to the area, she gave me divisions. Working with this plant reminds me of Allen Lacy, who inspired me to try it when I was executive editor of Organic Gardening, and he wrote several essays for the magazine. His description of the way the very thin foliage catches the early morning sun was an enticement I couldn’t resist.

Next, I clear leaves compacted over dead stems and foliage in the perennial beds. Only a few plants are showing new growth—iris (Iris germanica), columbine (Aquilegia canadensis), early meadow rue (Thalictrum dioicum), spiderwort (Tradescantia spp.), catnip (Nepeta cataria), and sedum. Tightly curled leaf clusters of Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ that hug the ground remind me of tiny Brussels sprouts; the soft olive-green mirrored in the foliage of snowdrops (Galanthus spp.) blooming in clusters around the yard, transplants from a friend’s yard six years ago. I gently pull or cut the straw-colored flower stems from the sedum plants.

A constant wind is blowing today, which feels much colder than the air temperature. Even with a hat over my ears and fleece shirt snapped at the neck, I am beginning to feel battered.

On my way to the back shrub border to see whether bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis), Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica), or native ginger (Asarum canadense) are poking through the soil, I catch a glimpse of buttery yellow aconite (Eranthis hyemalis) peeking through the evergreen Russian arborvitae (Microbiota decussata), now spread beautifully beyond its described limits. The cheerful yellow is echoed in the just-becoming-visible swollen buds along the bare stems of winter hazel (Corylopsis spicata). Color is folded in the compressed sepals, promising to unfurl any day.

Taking a break later in the day, I go for a walk along Bushkill Stream. I notice that buds on the pussy willow are just opening. Pulling down a limb low enough

Native Pachysandra

to reach, I rub the fur-like buds. The color is like the tips of bloodroot beginning to emerge next to the native pachysandra (Pachysandra procumbens).