If you go by the meteorological calendar, spring started on March 1st. However, I prefer to follow the astronomical calendar and wait for the vernal equinox on March 20th, when the length of day and night are equal, to celebrate the arrival of spring.
In early January, I found comfort knowing that by month’s end, it would still be light at 5pm. The first hint that winter might be subsiding came a few weeks ago – it was a splendid sunny day in February when the air had a heavy scent of sarcococca (sweet box) and the first daffodils began to appear.
Crocuses have been around in parks for a while, and I’ve been spotting camellias like Barbara Cartland ones as if on a treasure hunt. The use of my electric blanket has diminished.
At moments like these, the traditional names of the seasons don’t seem quite adequate. This has led to an increased interest in the Japanese concept of microseasons, which don’t adhere to exact dates but encourage noticing subtle changes over time.
These microseasons are related to small happenings: recently we’ve had “East wind melts the ice,” “Rain moistens the soil,” and “Mist starts to linger.” Currently, we’re transitioning from “Grass sprouts, trees bud” to “Hibernating insects surface.”
The final weekends of winter are for minor tasks, a preparation phase for the upcoming heavy gardening work.
During these last days of winter, especially when it’s cold, garden writer Andrew Timothy O’Brien has been motivating people to share on Instagram under the theme “winterspring,” whether it’s the intensifying birdsong or prolonged rosy sunsets. In his book, “To Stand and Stare: How to Garden While Doing Next to Nothing,” he says this period allows for neither haste to move past the previous year nor rush into the new one but provides a chance to appreciate the present moment.
It’s more enjoyable to cherish the calm before spring on the occasional sunny day than during stormy ones: March tempts us with sneak peeks of spring only to take them back with yet another storm threatening our cold frames.
After weeks of glumly gazing out the kitchen window, I’m finally drawn outside. This period involves cleaning and honing secateurs, pruning old growth (as insects are awakening), and warmly greeting those bulbs that have outlasted winter and squirrels.
The last winter weekends are for light tasks, as a warm-up for the more strenuous gardening ahead. Trim down grasses into tidy clumps, enjoy the surprise of rediscovering peonies sprouting red shoots, look out for brave buds on clematis plants, and reseed the lawns. Before you know it, everything will be growing so fast you won’t be able to catch up.
