Not only is Punxsutawney Phil so last month, he’s so “old coast.”
Miss Snippy refuses to acknowledge the prophecies of any rodent who can’t tell Washington State from Washington D.C. Six more weeks of winter, indeed. At our nation’s capital, perhaps, but ask the sponsors of the Vancouver Winter Olympics about snow and ice and you’re likely to hear some very unsportsmanlike mutterings.
We denizens of the Kitsap Peninsula deserve a more local prognosticator. Now, if Boomer the mountain beaver were to emerge from his burrow and gnaw the bark off our favorite rhododendron, it would signal beyond a doubt that weeks of damp and drizzle are in store. Not that we need an overgrown hamster to tell us that.
For some of us mossbacks, spring is sprung with the very first glimpse of a crocus pushing its disarmingly delicate head into a slippy, drippy world. For others, winter is laid to rest as they return their fuzzy gloves to hibernation. Super-cautious types refuse to get their hopes up until the return of the barn swallows in April.
They are all mistaken. The actual starter pistol of spring is the moment when Miss Snippy flings her Costco poinsettia onto the compost pile.
Not that the poor plant deserves it. It’s held up its end of the bargain. After months of regrettably random watering in a poorly lighted corner of the dining room, the thing looks as chipper as ever.
But one wearies of all that peace on Earth, goodwill toward men. It’s time for an old-fashioned pagan sacrifice to celebrate the equinox, and what better victim than an unblemished innocent? Scream all you want, my bracteate beauty.
When the frogs resume their annual randy chant in the neighbor’s pond, and once again we must hand-deliver newts from off the pavement to save them becoming road pudding, Miss Snippy’s thoughts turn to gardening.
We would be pleased to say that in our beds and borders the tulips bloom as they are told, as they do in Rupert Brooke’s “Old Vicarage,” but, regretfully, it comes closer to the truth to paraphrase William F. Buckley Jr. and admit that there are not enough psychiatrists in Seattle to cure the crazy collection that is Miss Snippy’s garden.
This may be owing to the fact that, while some people plant by design and others by the seat of their pants, Miss Snippy chooses her color combinations based on Jelly Bellies. It’s an innovation of tonal harmonies that boldly sends the color wheel spinning out the window.
We simply pop two different colored beans into our mouth together; if the flavor is pleasant, it’s a match. Thus lime and grape, or bubblegum and blueberry, or coconut and orange all make compatible color companions. Cinnamon and lemon are nails on a chalkboard. And nothing goes with licorice. So far the results have been disappointing, but — since we really like candy — the experiment continues.
The great thing about gardening is that it allows its initiates to experience spring from outside the window. Furthermore, in many ways it favors the enthusiastic novice. With most gardening ventures the learning curve is not steep, nor the price insupportable. Information abounds on the Internet, in print, and at privately owned nurseries.
Experimentation is half the fun, laziness the only true enemy, and — in the case of vegetable gardening — dinner the ultimate reward. Jelly Bellies are just icing on the cake.
