Which of the following is correct?

1.) Equinox: the two times each year (approximately March 21 and September 23) when the sun crosses the equator and day and night are of equal length.
2.) Equinox: a rare breed of farm animal which is a cross between a horse and ox; from the archaic term equine-ox.  

Yeah, that was ridiculously and silly of me, and childish too. The equinox has nothing to do with equines or oxen, or even spring chickens for that matter. The vernal equinox was Friday, and it signaled that spring had come to the Northern Hemisphere! Spring is my least favorite of the seasons, and I wasn’t giddy-up until now about its arrival. Ok, I swear I’ll quit horsing around now with the bad puns. But who doesn’t feel at least a little bit silly and giddy at the beginning of spring? I think more people anticipate the start of spring more than any other season; it’s the season of rebirth, and brings a renewed respect for the green earth around us. Doesn’t that make you want to jump for joy, (preferably in a mud puddle), and act like a child again?  

You wouldn’t know it’s spring by looking at my thermometer; it read 21 degrees Friday morning! We enjoyed some warm temperatures leading up to today though, and signs that spring had arrived were present everywhere. Like Punxsutawney Phil did last month, the crocus, glory-in-snow and daffodils stuck their noses out of the ground recently and sniffed the air – but unlike Phil, shadow or not - they found it to their liking, and decided to stay awhile.

The maples are budding, and will soon release a storm of pollen that’ll color everything yellow.  

The milder weather has brought the birds back to my feeder....and the squirrels too. Keith usually keeps the pole that the feeder sits on greased because those pesky squirrels have torn apart numerous feeders in the past. The grease must have worn off over the winter because they had no problem climbing the pole. They were fun to watch, actually; little acrobats that go through all kinds of antics to get at the food. But, sigh ... Later, I noticed they'd chewed through the plastic part of the feeder … again. The new replacement feeder I bought the following day, is supposed to be squirrel-proof. We'll see.

Pavement clear of winter’s snow and ice is a fresh canvas for sidewalk chalk graffiti. Shelby’s message on our back porch is a reminder that even during these tough economic times, you just have to take a break, and enjoy the day.

And that we did. Now, if only I can get that irritating song out of my head that’s been stuck there since she wrote the message.

Keith tended the firepit, burning the branches that blew down over the winter, saving a few choice ones so Quetta can still play "Stick". He also cleaned and prepared his grill, readying it for the first steaks of the season. Mmmmm ... the smell of steaks cooking outside ... another sign warmer weather has arrived.  

And while there was a fire burning, steaks marinating, graffiti drawn, and sticks being chased, I ... well ... I played in the mud. Go ahead and laugh. Keith did.  Staring at the pile of concrete cinder blocks, I had a vision. The blocks were from retaining wall we buried last fall in our “Saving Grace” effort. While the majority of the wall was buried, the top layers were removed to allow for a gentle slope down to the ravine. I decided they’d make a good, basic framework for a set of steps leading down the hill.

I thought this would be the perfect time to start; because it’s mostly clay, I wanted to get the digging done before it dried to an impenetrable consistency. It wasn’t just soft though; the snow-melt and rain turned it to mucky mess. Up and down the hill I lugged those blocks, and set them in place. It had to be a quick process – if I stood in one place too long, I’d be stuck there. My aptly named Muck Boots made smucking sounds with each step I took.  

“You should see yourself," laughed Keith. I looked down. My boots were covered in mud nearly up to my knees; my jeans and shirt only were only a little less splattered. My gloves ... what gloves? You couldn’t even tell I had them on; it looked as if I’d dipped my hands in chocolate cake batter. I couldn’t see my face or hair, but I imagine they were streaked with mud, too.

Our new neighbors two houses down decided it was a good time to introduce themselves. First impressions are lasting impressions, but I’m sure they’ll see me looking much worse as the gardening season progresses. Spring is also the time to get reacquainted – and acquainted – with neighbors. The warmer weather brings everyone outside and they’ll stand, chatting while you work, offering suggestions. Sometimes they’ll even help implement those suggestions.

Sometimes I have too much help.

Our pup, Quetta (Key-tah), was no less muddy than I. She stuck her nose into everything I did, even helping dig the holes ... mostly in places were I did not want holes dug. She inspected the wooden handles on the shovel and rake – and they met with her taste-tested approval.

While I was covered in mud, I decided to play some more. I moved two Michigan holly – in other parts of the country known as winterberry (Ilex verticillata), and starts from a yellow-twig dogwood from the creek bank onto the hill. The yellow-twig will root anywhere a branch meets with soil, and I had enough starts to make a good-sized bush. I did the same with Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica) – it spreads by runners; four shrubs were made from the fifty or so starts I got from one main bush. All should do well in the heavy soil and partial shade on the hill. If they don’t, or if the steps don’t compare with my vision once they’re complete – if my dream of rustic stairs leading down a woodland slope turns into a nightmare – I’ll just rip it out and start again.  

That is part of the beauty of a garden; it is ever-changing. Plants grow ... or they don’t. Sometimes they grow more than we anticipate. They can always be moved to a more suitable site. “Permanent” features are never permanent; walkways can be redirected, potting sheds reconstructed to make them bigger, and cinderblock stairways can be dug out ... providing the muck they were set in didn’t harden to a concrete-like consistency.  

But when all is said and done; when the day’s work is finished – nothing feels as good as resting in the warm spring sun.

It was coincidence last week that in two different sources, I ran across mention of a brief period of American history that made a big impact on many lives. I was reading the book, Lizards on the Mantel, Burros at the Door. It’s a fascinating autobiographical account taken from the author’s letters and journals from 1944 to 1946. The book chronicles Etta Koch's life after she, her husband and three daughters leave their comfortable home in suburban Cincinnati, fit whatever they can into a 23 foot trailer and follow her husband's dream of making natural history films in what was to become Big Bend National Park in Texas. Throughout the book, Koch makes reference to the Civilian Conservation Corps – the remnants of an abandoned CCC camp had been turned into Park Service Headquarters, and the “CCC boys” built some of the roads in the area.

I may have heard about the Civilian Conservation Corps, or even read a paragraph or two about it in a high school history book; I remember neither. It was an article in our local newspaper that appeared shortly after reading Koch’s book that spurred my interest in learning about this Depression-era program. The newspaper article announced a CCC film documentary would be shown at the college campus in town, to be followed by a discussion led by the filmmaker.

It’s not surprising I don’t remember the CCC. Though it was one of the most popular programs of its time, “The CCC was one of the most overlooked chapters in American history,” says filmmaker, author and songwriter, Bill Jamerson. “Most of their efforts were forgotten – only remembered by the trees that grew silently in their absence.” His PBS documentary “Camp Forgotten” strives to make remembered the stories and efforts of the more than 3.5 million young men who were given the nickname “Roosevelt’s Tree Army.”

As part of newly elected President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal package, the Civilian Conservation Corps was an environmental program designed to both put unemployed young men back to work during the Great Depression, and to aid in the restoration of the country’s natural resources.

Across the nation from 1933 to 1942, “The CCC Boys” planted over 5 billion trees, built National Parks, fought forest fires, prevented soil erosion, and helped to construct the country’s infrastructure. Here in Michigan, in addition to building roads, bridges and buildings, over 484 million trees were planted. It’s interesting to think that many of those white, jack and red pines may have come from the nursery where I work; the timing is right – the nursery started in 1932 as a conifer seedling nursery, supplying large quantities of evergreens to aid in the reforestation of the thousands of square miles of pine forest ravished by the lumber industry.

Michigan once led the nation in lumber production, but decades of over-harvesting without regard to conservation resulted in a destruction of the state’s natural resources as forests were clear-cut. In addition, once fertile land was over-farmed. During the Depression, unfertile farms were abandoned, reverting back to state ownership, or acquired by the Federal Government. These lands, reforested by the CCC, became our state and national forests. “Michigan would have blown away if not for the CCC,” says one former CCC Boy.

Another former CCC member was in attendance at the viewing of “Camp Forgotten,” and got up to speak during the discussion. Fred was born in downtown Detroit in a speakeasy. His grandfather made beer and sold it for a dollar per bottle during Prohibition. After Prohibition ended, the family moved to farmland up north, which proved a worthless, unfertile piece of property. When the farm failed, the family actually resided in the chicken coop. “I thought I was rich with the $5.00 per month I earned in the CCC,” he said.

The men, ages 17 to 23, lived in camps, earning a dollar per day. A required $25.00 of their monthly income was sent home. The CCC Boys not only worked for themselves, they were often the breadwinners of the family. “That was the genius of the program. It not only gave work to these young men, but it put food on the family table, and more importantly changed their lives,” says Jamerson. It gave these often poor, malnourished, under-educated and inexperienced young men work, food, and a place to live. It renewed faith and boosted morale during a time when few of them had any other chance for gainful employment. It also helped bolster local economies; unemployed teachers, trader-workers and lumbermen from nearby towns taught the enrollees skills, and enabled many of them to receive their high school diplomas.

In 1937, the United States was on its way to economic recovery and soon after, the CCC began to be looked upon as an unnecessary government extravagance. When the draft began in 1940, and with the looming possibility of the U.S. entering the war, federal programs shifted toward national defense. The Civilian Conservation Corps disbanded in 1942, with most of its ranks going directly to fight in World War II.

Nearly seventy years later, the accomplished writer and filmmaker travels the country to schools, libraries, and other venues, retelling the often dramatic stories of the CCC through Bill Jamerson's multimedia presentation of storytelling, songs, and his films. He provides a thoughtful perspective on its relevance today:  “Lessons learned from the CCC are invaluable for teaching skills to our youth. Put them in nature, and something wonderful happens to them.” Though the program cannot be duplicated on such a massive scale, the CCC serves as a model for present day national, state and local programs that serve our youth through community service and educational opportunities. Groups such as the Student Conservation Association, whose motto is “Changing lives through service to nature,” continue in the CCC’s tradition to give young men and women the ability to change their communities and improve their own lives. 

It’s March ... is it time to get out in the garden yet? Patience, patience, Cindy – the time will come soon enough when the nursery re-opens, and you’ll be back to work. Then, between there and your own gardens you’ll have more than enough gardening. But right now, although the snow’s melted, the ground is still frozen and there’s not a whole lot that can be done. Enjoy the last days of winter while you can. Even the closed buds on bare trees hold promise spring will come ... in its own sweet time.

I have to tell myself things like this as we stand on the cusp between winter and spring. A friend from Oklahoma mentioned her roses had leaves, and her daffodils were already blooming. “Wow,” I thought, almost envious. The fairy roses in front of my house haven’t even lost last year’s leaves; they were freeze-dried to the branches when the first snow hit in early November.

Coming in the house the other day, I stared at the bare dirt where daffodils waft a heady scent through the back door when they’re in bloom. I tried to will them to flower, but they ignore me, and haven’t broken ground yet. The straw-colored clump of red switch grass (Panicum virgatum 'Rostrahlbusch’) near the daffodils-to-be spot, looks broken and beaten after spending months under the weight of snow. I really need to cut that down soon. Ornamental grasses should be cut to two to three inches above the soil before new growth begins to sprout. Divisions too can be done in spring – I want to divide the grass and move a clump or two into the new garden this year.

Hacking through grasses and dividing them can be a chore. These, and many other big spring gardening tasks, can lead to sore muscles that haven’t been worked in a while. As indoor activities shift to outdoor work, remember not to over do it. Start slowly to give your muscles time to acclimate. As with any physical exercise, stretching beforehand is a good practice. Don’t forget to include a cooling down period after the task is completed ... and what better way than taking a stroll through the garden looking at what you’ve accomplished ... and taking inventory of all that still needs to be done.

Hands too, should be protected. Good work gloves are as essential tools to me as pruners and a shovel. Sometimes it doesn’t matter that I wear gloves; dirt and mulch seem to find a way inside them. Try this trick for removing that ground-in garden dirt from your hands: Pour equal amounts of sugar and olive oil into your hand, and rub together for a few minutes, before rinsing. The grit of the sugar is abrasive enough to remove the grime, and the olive oil softens your hands at the same time. Because I wash my hands so much during the work season, this is one way I've found to keep them from getting red and dry like they do with abrasive hand cleaners.

Nebraska Dave, a great conversationalist in the blog comment sections and forums on this site, said, “The warm Spring sun, the sound of birds, watching the squirrels play in the trees all just make a body feel good inside.” Very true indeed, Dave. Last fall’s cranberry viburnum berries dusted in a sugary spring frost are a bright splash of red for a gray day.

A budding pussy-willow standing against a clear blue sky, which on closer inspection reveal fuzzy gray catkins beginning to open, is therapeutic for a winter-weary soul.

Plants are like that – they make us feel happy, even inside the house; it’s been proven by Harvard University scientists. Participants in a behavioral study reported feeling happier, more compassionate and energetic after looking at flower bouquets in the morning. A good thing to remember when the cats wake me before 5:30 a.m insistently demanding they be fed. Placing a bouquet of flowers near their dishes for me to see through half-opened bleary eyes might not be a bad idea.

Too early to cut flowers indoors from your garden? Don’t want the expense of buying them at the florist’s or consider it an unnecessary extravagance in today’s tumultuous economy? You can still fight those late winter blahs (and uncompassionate feelings towards early-rising felines) by forcing branches indoors. See my last week’s entry, “Bring Branches In and Force Spring a Little Bit Early” for some tips on getting dormant branches to bloom.

March is also the time for spring gardening shows. The county’s Second Annual Garden and Landscaping Expo takes place this weekend. I’d like to attend one of the seminars at the show, “Water Conservancy for the Home Gardener,” given by the Van Buren Conservation District. Interesting topic; we can all be stewards of this earth and of our wallets. I’ll fill you in on what I learn about saving water and money.

At these gardening shows, plant and gardening enthusiasts will browse the aisles like kids in a candy shop. This year’s hot new perennials and shrubs will seem irresistible must-haves for the garden. But anyone who’s ever planted ornamentals has had at least one instance when that “sounds-too-good-to-be-true” adage was proven. A plant touted to “attract wildlife” has left you with every deer and rabbit within a twenty-five mile radius using your entire front yard as their grazing grounds. That exciting new and improved hybrid cost twice as much and performed half as well as its predecessor.

I discovered some tongue-in-cheek plant advertising gimmicks reading “The Real Meaning of Plant Catalog Terminology” on The Spirit of Gardening website. The site offers over 3,500 quotations, poems, quips, adages, links and references for the gardener and nature lover.

The Real Meaning of Plant Catalog Terminology:

"A favorite of birds" means to avoid planting near cars, sidewalks, or clotheslines.

"Grows more beautiful each year" means "Looks like road-kill for the foreseeable future."

"Zone 5 with protection" is a variation on the phrase "Russian roulette."

"May require support" means your daughter's engineering degree will finally pay off.

"Moisture-loving" plants are ideal for landscaping all your bogs and swamps.

"Carefree" refers more to the plant's attitude than to your workload.

"Vigorous" is code for "has a Napoleonic compulsion to take over the world."

"Grandma's Favorite" – until she discovered free-flowering, disease-resistant hybrids.

The author is not credited on the site, but I laughed at his or her descriptions – I’ve had many of those same experiences in my own garden. Patience may be a virtue, but having a sense of humor is a gardening prerequisite ... because gardening should be fun. I can’t wait to get started. Patience, patience, Cindy. Sigh. No one ever said I was a virtuous woman.