The Canvas

Mountain springs are notoriously fickle. 70 degree days followed by 20 degree nights. Recently, on a 70 degree evening with a full moon hanging over the Bushnell Creek, I sat on my garden path with Bella. We both just breathed in the warm air. And stared at the moon.

Here it was. The warm weather carrying with it scents and sounds of last spring when Thom was still alive and fussing in his own garden where the temperatures were always 5 to 10 degrees warmer. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he would say, the tropics of Olivebridge. 

Lately, all I've wanted to do is lay myself down on the warming earth in my garden and fall asleep under the moon. Pressing my cheek into the soil feels like it will bring me closer to Thom. After all, somewhere under me is a root creeping along in the dark, through all of the bacteria and microorganisms, that originates in a garlic clove or a strawberry plant from his garden.

So, on a sunny, warm Monday this week, the basic black went down in the fenced edible garden. The black canvass for the plants. Dark brown compost for the interior garden beds and mulch for the walkways and exterior garden beds.

All the rage of late, black mulch is sharp, highlighting the lime green of the emerging daylilys, garlic, iris, daffodils and chives - the only things of any height growing in late April in Zone 4 Shandaken. Here are there, purple green rosettes of monarda and anise hyssop lie close to the soil, as if knowing that there still are several nights of freezing temperatures waiting and they'd better huddle low to keep warm. Tonight is one of them. 27 degrees.

I wonder, will this spring ever get warm and stay warm? 

The first two plants went in - both of them clematis. 

Earnest Markham.

and, Jackmanii.

 Vines with large vibrant purple and red blooms to offset the black and reach for the sky. Or the heavens. Whatever you want to call it.

And because tonight is forecast to be 27 degrees, both tender young vines will be covered with plastic to protect them from the spring frost. I notice how my spirit expands and contracts with the temperatures. When it's warm, I open, unfurl and breathe a little easier and with each suddenly cold night, the thermals and curse words come out. 

Well, the Buddhists have a saying: There is no cure for hot. There is no cure for cold.