The cusp of spring
By By Gail Barton / horticulture columnist
Feb. 16, 2003
The cusp of spring is my favorite time of year
When it comes to picking favorites, I've been known to be a bit fickle.
When I sweet-talk my five dogs, each is reassured that he is "the best dog in the world." Likewise, my favorite flower is the one currently in bloom.
As for the seasons, I can't seem to pick a favorite. Each bears unique gifts.
I look forward to choruses of summer cicadas and warm evenings on the deck swing. I'm enamored of autumn's bounties of berries and glowing tinted leaves.
I am equally delighted by the bare winter limbs and emerald carpets of moss in my woods.
And spring how could I forget the season of daffodils, dogwoods and spring peepers. I'm glad I don't have to choose a favorite season. If I did have to pick one, I'd narrow it down even further.
I think the cusp of spring leads (by a nose) as my absolute favorite time of year.
The cusp begins when I notice the subtle swelling of buds on naked limbs.
I'm not the only one who notices.
One sunny February morning, Richard and I watched a young squirrel high in the top of a cottonwood grazing from bud to bud.
Perhaps the plump sap-filled buds were his spring tonic.
Maybe the force in those bursting buds helped to rouse him from his drowsy winter state.
At any rate, he cautiously sidled out onto the tips of each slender twig to nip the tasty terminal buds.
Now I've never nibbled cottonwood buds, but Sir Squirrel set me to thinking. If the energy from a few apical buds prepares him for a strenuous season of rut, maybe bud energy will sustain me through the brutal spring rush that is an integral part of my job. I could start by making a fiddlehead soup which should capture the infused energy of emerging fern fronds.
I could collect some thrusting bamboo culms to make a stir fry and graze on budded asparagus spears.
If all goes well, maybe I'll join Sir Squirrel out on a limb next spring.
Meanwhile, as always, I'll feed on the visual stimuli that leads me to a state of grace during cusp-time.
I'll study the blushing swamp rose leaflets edged with delicate fringe and meditate on huckleberries dripping with flower jewels.
I'll listen to the spring peepers' soprano chorus and seek ephemeral waterfalls which materialize in our creek.
I'll search the woods for patches of trillium and bloodroot and ponder the swelling honeysuckle azalea flower buds.
In short, I'll slip away at every opportunity to contemplate the unique moments of this season of possibilities.
