Your
YARD AND GARDEN

A look forward to winter's rest

The end of the garden season brings mixed emotions. Initially, my body dances with joy as it visualizes the upcoming Saturdays and Sundays without much bending, stooping, crawling, stretching and digging, and maybe sleeping a little longer instead of getting up early to beat the heat. My skin thrills at the thought of no more poison ivy rashes, cuts and pricks from countless thorns, at the chance to heal.

David Robson

And my fingernails just scream with delight and the thought of actually being white.

If my washer and dryer were acrobats, they would be doing flips of joy picturing five months without mud-encrusted, grass-stained jeans, T-shirts and cotton gloves. The work boots heave with unencumbered elation at the chance of finally drying out. Of course, they don't say much - probably tongue-tied.

Then the brain kicks in and says, "Hey, it's all worthwhile. It's something to be thankful for." And I'm thankful for the ability to get up early each gardening season Saturday and Sunday and enjoy the agony my body goes through.

My head, though, is another matter. The eyes pine for the prism of colors that seem to pop-up everywhere, from the vivid marigold yellows to the fire engine red of burning bushes. Winter isn't lifeless, but browns and grays do get a little tiring after a couple of months. Okay, a couple of weeks. That's why early spring bulbs such as winter aconites and snowdrops should be in every landscape, situated close to windows or back doors. And don't forget the February blooming witchhazel. Then there are those scents and aromas that pique the nose. Maybe not all of them are fresh and stimulating, but even the foul ones make you appreciate those that send your brain into orbit

I'm partially envious of those of you that can legally burn leaves. Partially, mind you. For a couple of minutes, that is. The smell is great, but a little of it goes a long way. The same with the smoke. By January, my nose is twitching for freshly turned compost pile, a blood-red rose, and even newly mown turfgrass. Just the freshness of outdoors after a rain.

There are also sounds associated with gardening, though most of us don't tune our ears onto them. Oak and birch leaves make rustling noises with any passing gentle breeze. Ornamental grasses swish back and forth like fine sandpaper. Birds and crickets chirp. Water gurgles from fountains and garden hoses.

Some of you will argue, and with no objections from me, that a fresh, tree-ripened apple tastes better than any cardboard flavor Red Delicious from a grocery store. Garden fresh lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli and red peppers have unsurpassed flavors. Zucchini? Well, you can't have everything. Yep. Initially the body overpowers the brain with sighs of relief and dreams of rehabilitation. Then the brain kicks in and says, "Hey, it's all worthwhile. It's something to be thankful for." And I'm thankful for the ability to get up early each gardening season Saturday and Sunday and enjoy the agony my body goes through.

David Robson is an Extension Educator, Horticulture, at the Springfield Extension Center, University of Illinois Extension. You can write to Robson in care of Illinois Country Living, P.O. Box 3787, Springfield, IL 62708. Telephone: (217) 782-6515. E-Mail: robsond@mail.aces.uiuc.edu

16    ILLINOIS COUNTRY LIVING NOVEMBER 2001