Garden fiasco: My primroses took one for the team

Late February, 2012

I remember reading that, during the 1930s, hobos who rode the trains would leave chalk marks on the doorsteps of families who were willing to give them food or money. My own family believes that birds, squirrels, and stray animals etch marks in our yard, letting their hungry pals know they can count on free meals from me. (Note to our town’s wandering moose: I hope you can’t read.)

Maybe there’s a new technology that gives garden nurseries, and any stores that sell plants, an invisible magic marker to brand impetuous gardeners. A potential customer walks in, and the employee activates the decoding device and spots the sucker. “Wow, great timing!” the employee says cheerily. “We just got in our first shipment of primroses! Just what you need for early spring in your garden!”

Is there a glowing mark on my forehead? In the past week, I have learned three important gardening tips:

• First, impetuous gardeners firmly believe that early spring starts in February in north Idaho
• Second, there is no early spring in north Idaho.
• Third, if you plant primroses in February – or any time when there is still a chance of snow and freezing temperatures – your primroses will hate you. Maybe they will die. At best, their petals will wilt and shrivel. Every time you look out your window, you will see them, huddling in their planter, shivering, gasping, and cursing you with their tiny primrose voices.

Of course, there really is no magic technology (I hope) that invisibly brands gullible gardeners. We make our own impetuous decisions. We see the plants, buy the plants, ignore the snow clouds, and prance outside to celebrate an early springtime. So this column is the Dark Side of my previous writing about hopeful signs of spring. It’s still snowing. The ground is still frozen. Wise up. Stay indoors and read. I have never been a cynic, but am a professional at carrying long-term guilt. I feel terrible about sending those primroses out into the cold and seeing them struggle. I should have covered them with protective fabric before the snow fell and the temperature dropped to 16 degrees.

On the day I planted the primroses, I walked around our neighborhood and felt pretty smug. Nobody else’s garden had spring flowers. Nobody else was outside, wearing fleece gardening gloves, humming as she planted. Of course, nobody else was outside –my neighbors are intelligent people! It was 41 degrees, and the winter wind was blowing across the prairie. In the half hour it took me to do the planting, I had to go inside twice to warm up my fingers – so I could go back out and condemn eight trusting little plants to an early doom.

Do not listen to the bad Gardening Angel in your head, urging you to ignore the temperature (not to mention the falling snow) and just go ahead and put those cute plants into the frozen ground. Give yourself time to let the Good Angel flutter closer and whisper, “Whaddya doin’? Take off those garden gloves, put down the trowel, and back away slowly, all the way into the house. And stay there for another month.”

At least the pressure’s off for awhile. I have reported my first gardening fiasco of 2012. My garden staff (golden retriever, Old English sheepdog, and Benjamin BadKitten) is relieved that they are blameless in this one. While I was out planting primroses, Kaylee, our golden retriever, and Benjamin were both deep into their afternoon meditation. Rags, our sheepdog, worriedly supervised me from the warmth of the living room sofa. Several times I heard him whimper a warning that I was making a fool of myself by planting primroses in late February. Since he is the Clown Prince of foolishness, I should have listened.