Last summer, anticipating our departure from Radio Ranch, from my garden there I dug up a small clump of chives, which is now growing on my kitchen windowsill. The photo is last summer's crop in its original habitat.
Last Friday, I took my last trip to WCLV's former office to walk through the empty studios and say farewell. With temperatures in the 50s, the melted snow made the ground squishy, just like it is in Ohio every spring. At great risk to my shoes, I squished out to the garden and pulled out the remaining zinnia and sunflower stems, while remembering last summer's glorious blooms, many photos of which I posted here.
Thoughts of spring-like weather brought to mind my frustration last fall in trying to dig up spring bulbs I had planted there over the years. I couldn't find the grape hyacinth, snowdrop and squill bulbs, which are tiny. And let's look at this from the bulb's point of view: If you were underground for a few years, you wouldn't be all that distinguishable from dirt, either.
But miraculously on Friday, the warmth brought up all the green shoots, which peeked through the sodden soil. I dug all of them up and took them home, where they'll join the windowsill chives to remind me of my beloved garden.
I guess some plants won't reveal themselves until you're ready for them.
I think that last line should be: some plants won't reveal themselves until they're ready for you.
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