Here at The Hermit's Grove, the gardening and growing season begins at Candlemas. A careful walk through the gardens uncovers the early sprouts of herbs and perennials and the early signs of bulbs breaking the soil. Beds, which looked beautifully weeded last October, may now be sprinkled with weeds that germinated and took hold despite any of our winter weather. The newer beds, perhaps only a year or two old, may even be carpeted with a lovely layer of green, which, upon inspection, proves to be weeds, one species of which is already in bloom and preparing to produce seed in its genetic desire to invade even more territory.
Springtime gardening begins early but requires a hardy gardener. Perhaps it is my restless bones which clamor for activity, railing against the many long days spent in bondage to my computer and desk. I would like to think it is my spiritual connection with the earth, my growing sense of oneness with the soil. Just as the plants begin to display an early vernal exuberance, my body longs to be out doors, working and exercising itself. It is for this reason that we begin the day dressed warm in layers of clothing for, as the sun begins to warm our bodies, we must be careful to avoid becoming too damp with perspiration. Knees will become muddy and garden shoes must be kept free from layers of moist soil and clay. That same soil can cause one's hands and fingers to dry out just as spas apply a layer of clay to remove the oils from one's skin. I protect my hands by wearing inexpensive surgical gloves. They keep my hands dry with very little loss of touch, for I rely upon my ability to feel the soil.
I'm at a point by Valentine's when any day without rain pulls at me and those that are sunny make being desk-bound unbearable. I can rationalize that it's the size of our gardens or that it's the growth of winter weeds, but the truth is that this is the time of year when I grow very restless. Some days I wonder how I ever fared those many years gardening in Minnesota, where I was forcibly kept from working the soil for five and six months out of the year. Here, a three month stretch seems unbearable!
What do we do in the gardens at spring? The most important activity is removing the layers of dead leaves. It is true that they provide a good mulch for many types of gardens, but they can also provide an environment not so conducive to healthy plants. In this maritime, temperate climate, decaying leaves do much to encourage slugs. While it's true that mulch keeps the moisture in during our long, dry months and keeps in the warmth during the occasional binges of temperatures below 20's, once the days have begun to warm, that same insulation will now keep the soil itself from warming. Rotting layers of leaves and mulch must be removed from irises and other plants vulnerable to herbivorous mollusks such as slugs and snails. Layers of leaves will keep the sun from warming soil around spring bulbs, slowing down the awakening of crocuses, daffodils and hyacinths. There is a very nurturing quality to carefully pulling back a matting of wet, dead leaves, exposing rhizomes and new leaves to the glories and warmth of the early springtime sun. The very sensations in one's fingers create an intimacy with one's plants and garden not found at other times of the year. It is a type of birthing, of helping a plant reach forth so as to begin the manufacture of chlorophyll.
In our February climate, we are emerging from the rainy season and have no desire to help the soil retain moisture. Opening the beds to bare soil is a process of assisting the gardens in restoring a healthy balance of moisture, letting them begin drying out. This process is furthered by beginning to work the soil using our hand trowels, which extend deeply in the soil, and turning the earth to a depth of 10 or more inches. Our Summer gardening requires working the soil to a much greater depth. During the winter, whether you live with rain or snow, the soil is weighed down and compressed. Roots need oxygen and freedom of movement. Part of our spring labor includes restoring a healthy balance of earth and water and air to the roots of our prized herbs and perennials.
At the same time we work the soil, we begin to do our best to protect our gardens and beds against the invaders. By the beginning of February, weeds which began to appear in nicely maintained beds last October have continued to spread their lush green. One, which we have not yet identified but which gerry calls "artillery weed" due to the explosive manner in which it shoots its seed in all directions at the slightest touch, comes into bloom by the beginning of February. The seed from this crop of plants can lead to two or three more generations before gardening season ends, and it will continue throughout the winter. Artillery weed, cleavers and chickweed are the quickest-spreading of the early springtime weeds and require a faithful gardener's heart and a commitment of time.
Weed control requires getting out when the weather permits to dig these weeds out, roots and all. Almost every one of our beds is less than three years old, situated where once grew tall grass and weeds, the seeds from which were of no concern to a lawn mower but now reside throughout the soil. Some beds have had old compost mixed in, which can readily bring a profusion of California poppies, chard or borage from plants tossed into the bins more than a decade ago! It is for this reason that commercial potting soil is rendered sterile. Frankly, we'd rather kneel in moist soil to dig weeds by hand and use our non-sterile home made compost!
There are other aspects to springtime gardening. Early spring is one of the better times of the entire year to relocate plants. The first working of the gardens is a time when we mark some of the species that are yet untagged, divide some that have become too crowded or move one or two that we discovered got more shade than we had anticipated. In February, the gardens have only begun to stretch their souls. It is after the Equinox that their roots will grow more vigorously and the sun will shine with more warmth. The higher the temperature and the dryer the soil, the more traumatic it will be for our plants to be moved during the summer.
The first working of the beds in early spring is also a stone-collecting time. Those who tour our gardens sometimes think that the gravel paths were created with stone purchased and brought in. We garden where glaciers once slid through, dragging rock and stone with them. As the soil responds to water and cold throughout the winter, small thumb and fingertip-sized stones are raised right to the surface. These are picked before the soil is turned. We gather them at any time of year when turning the soil, but they are profuse after Candlemas. Gathered in buckets, they are used to gravel the paths. We may have the only garden paths to be found where the paving gravel is literally hand-picked!
I've described the labor thus far, and I would not be honest if I pretended it was not labor. But there is much more. Springtime gardening is placing yourself at the hands of the exuberance found in your beds, the elation upon discovering the vigor with which the new growth is emerging from the soil. There is a near-giddy joy in the re-acquaintance with one's gardens, for the plants are alive; they are our friends. With hundreds of species here at The Grove, we cannot truly remember all of them for winter has come through with its darkness like an eraser to my memory. Now that the days are growing longer, the return of the sun brings the first shoots and leaves up to remind us of the splendors of summer.
As I write this our gardens look like vast expanses of brown soil, but, to the gardener's eye, are filled with the new, red shoots of the peony and valerian, the nestled leaves of the stonecrop. The early signs of growth for hundreds of plants less than an inch tall are scattered throughout our acre. By Midsummer we will be waist-deep in foliage and flower, the gardens loud in color and busy with bird and bee and insect. The growth of the early springtime garden appears tenuous to the eye, but it is sturdy. No storm nor snow will stop it now, and our part in this work is a labor of joy.
We nurture our gardens and they nurture us. That restlessness I feel after Candlemas? It is a need for healing, for letting my hands work in the soil. Our gardens awake after Candlemas, but so does the gardener's soul. The timing may vary from climate to climate, but yoking one's self to the emerging growth in spring is timeless. I love being an herbalist in the spring.
Beyerl is the well-known author of The Master Book of Herbalism, A Wiccan Bardo, Painless Astrology and The Holy Books of the Devas. He is also the founder of The Rowan Tree Church, and lives at The Hermit's Grove where he and his partner, gerry, maintain an acre and a third of magickal gardens and sacred spaces. The gardens are open for tours by appointment. Beyerl teaches botanical medicine at Seattle Central Community College and herbal gardening at Bellevue Community College. For more information you may call (206) 828-4124.
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