Two weeks ago, the dining room table at Winterpast looked perfectly respectable. A nice place for a cup of coffee, a jigsaw puzzle, and perhaps a quiet moment of reflection. Then the seedlings took over.
Two weeks ago, the weather was too cold to plant seeds outside. Then, in a flash, the weather changed as it can do here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The daytime highs are now in the 70’s. Blooms are popping, bees are buzzing. Then, last night, five serious gusts of wind sent our windchimes into a frenzy. Only five synchronized gusts. Next week, we’ll be in the 80’s, and it’s only mid-March. Mother Nature is hard to predict during the last days of winter.
Back in our homemade jungle, tiny green stems are stretching upward as if they suddenly realized they were late for spring. Every morning they’re taller, brighter, and far more ambitious than the day before. What began as a tray of hopeful little dots tucked into swollen Jiffy soil discs has turned into a miniature forest right in the middle of the house.
Mammoth sunflowers are the bold ones. Even as babies they seem confident, pushing up sturdy stems and wide leaves as if they already know they will become the showoffs of the summer garden. Already repotted once, they’ll soon put down roots outside. It’ll be up to them to do the rest.
The strawflowers and zinnias are more delicate, their tiny leaves reaching carefully toward the window light, quietly promising blossoms that last long after summer fades. Delphiniums were late to the party and are just now breaking ground. And the daisies—simple, cheerful, dependable—are rising right along with them.
All of them planted just two weeks ago.
The magic of the Jiffy discs amazes me every year. Drop those flat little coins of soil into warm water, and they puff up like biscuits in the oven. Tuck in the seeds, cover them gently, and then comes the hardest part of gardening: waiting. Except this year, the waiting barely lasted at all. The seedlings seem to have decided that Winterpast has waited long enough for color.
Outside, the garden beds are patiently waiting beneath the wide Nevada sky, freshly turned and waiting for the parade of flowers that will soon arrive. Within the next two weeks, these eager little plants will make the journey from dining room table to open soil, while the bees will be waiting.
Every year, we give the bees a reason to visit. Zinnias, strawflowers, sunflowers, and daisies are all tiny invitations written in pollen and petals. A garden full of flowers becomes a gathering place for bees, butterflies, and all the little winged visitors that make a garden feel alive. Winterpast has been named as a Wildlife Habitat by the World Wildlife Federation. At least that’s what our garden sign says. It’s a simple kind of partnership in which we grow the flowers and they hum along.
The show off that she is, the apricot tree has its own way of announcing the season. The branches are dotted with soft pink-white blossoms, delicate and hopeful against the still-cool air. The plum tree couldn’t be left out, beginning to bloom yesterday. Spring has officially arrived at Winterpast, no matter what the calendar says.
Soon, all this new life will leave the dining room table behind, and spread their roots into the garden beds, stretch toward the sun, and begin the real work of blooming. But for now, I sit at the desk with my coffee, encouraged by this cheerful little jungle, while watching the miracle that happens when seeds decide it’s time to grow.
It never gets old.
Not even after all these years.
