Eye of the beholder

Perspective is everything.

After the longest cold spell we have experienced in several winters, these past two weeks of 40-degree temperatures and rain showers have been a welcome relief. Winter coats and winter boots, hats, scarves and mittons have been joyously abandonded in favour of hoodies and sneakers. Iced-over windows are thawed, and one is no longer required to chip ice from the doorsill in order to get outside. Even the ice in my driveway is nearly gone.

We who have been housebound due to vehicles with cold-induced malfunctions, such as dead batteries, stiff engines and burst hoses, are not discouraged by slippery intersctions and parking-lot skating rinks. We are just delighted to escape the threatening onset of cabin fever.

But hark back to the past summer. Did we appreciate the same weather conditions with which we are basking after the cold spell? Were we relieved to forsake 70-degree temeratures and clear sunny skies? Were the hoodies and sneakers quite so joyously donned over the tank tops and shorts to ward off the chill? Did we consider the danger of cabin fever when we spent weeks indoors to avoid the inconvenience of wet hair and muddy feet? As I recall, we did not. Conditions that, in mid-winter, may be considered a respite are a misery to endure all summer long.

Most of us would be in agreement with this outlook (although I have to admit to enjoying our rainy summer). But what of the perspective of the world of fauna? The plants in our garden, I think, may have a different outlook. For the most part, they thrived during this past summer.

Although the annuals, from purely ornamental flowers to utilitarian food crops, mostly sulked — they suffered root rot, wilt, mildew and a myriand of other complaints and patienently refused to perform. But what do annuals know of the hardships of winter? Like spoiled children who wish to be granted thier every whim, they pout when circumstances do not suit them.

Perennials are a hardier lot. Unlike humans who build around themselves a favorable environment, vegetation must grow in existing conditions. Perennials that we keep therefore flourish in cool climates or they would not survive. They did not complain this past summer, but flowered and fruited as reliably as ever. In fact, without any drought periods during bud-set or fruit-set, our berries produced a bumper crop.

Lots of rain also promoted vegetative growth of wonderful huge leaves, strong, succulent stems and plenty of root extension. As several previous seasons have been somewhat dry, this rainy summer porvided a long, refreshing drink, especially for our trees and shrubs, which hunker down and endure water shortages but do not prosper. And winter hardiness itself can be affected by the condition of a plant at the onset of winter. A plant with a high moisture content going into winter is better prepared to survive the long months of dessicating freezing temperatures and biting winds.

Hence, while we were complaining of chills and sheltering under our roofs or with heads ducked inside rain hats or beneath umbrellas, our perennials were stretching their roots, lifting their branches and facing into the rains.

Coming back to the more current weather, the fauna may show a different appreciation than anyone who considers this a respite. Remember, our trees and shrubs, and the herbaceous perennials as well, were well watered and prepared for winter, their roots tucked warmly under an insulating blanket of snow. Temperatures in the sub-zeros, -20 degrees to -40 degrees, were no bother. They were resting comfortably, patiently to welcome a new season but not requiring, or even desiring, it to come in the middle of their rest.

Soon they will begin to stir, prompted by conditions that signal them out of their time of respite with a call to awaken and grow, a call to be about their business. But it is a false call, for to begin growth now would be disasterous; sap would flow, tender buds form, delicate shoots appear, all to be devastated by a regression into winter.

So here I am, writing, listening to the rain fall outside my window, knowing I can walk to the mailbox in my shirt sleeves on dry ground that has emerged from the snowy freeze of winter. But alas! As much as I savour the knowledge, I know as well that my bit of spring will not last. And it must not for the sake of my garden. My own perspective, and that of the vegetation around me, are not always alike.

Hally Truelove is a Master Gardener and Plants Woman who lives and gardens in Wasilla with her two daughters, a handful of cats, a bunch of bunnies, some guinea pigs, a dog and a frog. Contact her at 376-0909.