Looking out my Backdoor: The world turned downside upside

I’m not saying winter is over and done. I’m not that presumptuous.

However, it surely does feel like spring has bumped winter off the edge.

Why, when we’ve only sailed through mid-January, am I waking up to mornings 15 and 20 degrees warmer than at Christmas?

Why are some of the jacaranda trees beginning to flower? Those trees bloom in April and May through June. Purple flowers pop out like moles in a newly laid lawn. This tree, then that tree, then the one over yonder. But never in January. Any leaflets still clinging are falling fast.

Why is my avocado tree, the newly planted Haas, in full flower?

Why is my mango tree strutting in all its blooming glory? I tried to tell it, “Not now, you silly fool. Frost may still attack.” I swear, the mango tree yawned and another cluster of flowers fanned out.

I’ve lived in this lush garden country long enough to know to plant my garden buckets in February. I’m harvesting lettuce, zucchini and, of course, the perpetual tomatoes daily. Would anybody like some fresh tomatoes? We’ve planted a third of my buckets and are readying the soil for the remainder.

And the flowers? Flowers are always. I mean, they do rest. They alternate blooming and resting all year long.

Did you know that the mother-in-law’s tongue plant sends up a tall spike with a cluster of flowers at the end? Did you know that all the houseplants that we Montanans struggle to keep alive and green, in moderate pots on a coffee table, down here in this garden, grow hugely, in the open, often planted by birds and flower unashamedly?

I have to hack back my herbs frequently, with gusto, and throw away the cuttings. I had to quit drying them. After using only fresh plants these several years, the dried herbs remind me of floor sweepings, just as tasty.

Are you bragging or complaining, you might ask. I’m not sure. I’m still learning this country and the country keeps changing. I’ll answer your question when I know the answer. Meanwhile, can you see me looking baffled and shrugging my shoulders?

Know what scares me though? Remember how when I first moved here, there were a dozen or so potted plants around the house? I began visiting Vivero Centro with great frequency, returning home with more pots and more plants. One day I counted and I had well over one hundred different plants in lovely clay pots. I think I was the Vivero’s best customer. I had to make myself stop cold turkey, you know, white knuckle it.

It’s like a disease, right? When I began my bucket garden, it was with the thought of growing lettuce and tomatoes, maybe peppers and zucchini. Four buckets, or, maybe six, or even eight.

And just like the clay pots, buckets seemed to breed and proliferate. Next thing you know, I couldn’t remember what I’d planted in this or that bucket? Beets? Carrots? I had to wait for the little bitty shoots to give me a clue. Oh, yes, that which looks like grass. It’s baby spinach. Ah, isn’t it cute? See, what I mean?

Then I bought three baby baths for those plants that didn’t like hanging over the edge of a tall bucket. They wanted to sprawl horizontally, so what was I to do?

Then I bought a few medium trash cans and some oil barrels cut in half, for those which want just a bit more depth.

And just like that, my bucket garden grew out of hand. I’ll try to keep it tamed this year. Otherwise, I might as well plow up the rest of the yard and have a real garden.

A real garden is a lot of work. Real gardens are sweat and heartache. Buckets are fun. I don’t want a working garden. I want fun.

Is winter really over? The next few days will tell that story. Nothing in my garden seems to be behaving.

What’s that you ask? How many buckets and designated vegetable containers do I have? I don’t know. I’m afraid to count them.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].