Each year around this time, I suffer Spring Fever melt-down. It starts when the snowdrops and aconites break through the cold winter soil to show their bright, sunny faces, and quickly ramps up with the return of the robins.
The fever hit hard last week and drew me outside in shirtsleeves to turn soil, yank weeds and cut down a sea of dead stalks that should have been composted months ago. When the fever’s in full stride, it’s easy to push away thoughts of unwritten chapters and hunker down over a garden fork.
With fresh dirt under my fingernails, I felt a renewed commitment to get my neglected gardens back in shape, but that first day’s work had my back reminding me to take it easy.
The weather cooled, my fever subsided and a few days later I’m in town with a friend, running errands. She suggests a stop at the nursery.
Why not, I think? I’ll just have a wee look-see.
But the moment I walk through the doors, the fever sets in. I inhale the heady scent of forced blooms and my pupils dilate. A garden centre in February is like a crack house to the bloom-starved, flower-addicted gardener.
I wander wide-eyed up and down the aisles touching lush foliage and cooing. Before I know it, I’ve gathered an armful of the little darlings and I make a break for the till.
Later on, safely home, I set my drugs…err…flowers out on the lawn to admire, and contemplate where I’ll plant them. They’ll be fine left outside, I reason, after all, the crocuses are already blooming.
I should know by now that a trip to the garden centre this early in the year never ends well.
For now, the hot flash of spring fever is under control, snuffed out under a blanket of winter snow. But it’ll be back. It always comes back!