Who am I talking about? My ultimate taskmistress, Spring season.
This is the longest lasting spring in my 15+ years of living in this part of the world. The season usually lasts, at the most, for measly three or so weeks, and leaves behind faint memories of early morning dew and balmy afternoons in its wake.
Each year, I keep hoping that spring – however brief its existence – has a mellower effect on me. I’d love to recline in a hammock in my shady backyard snacking on a lovely mystery novel, a glass of pink lemonade sweating on a table next to me.
She wrinkles her nose and says, “Look at your garden, weeds choking my poor seedlings. And don’t even mention the hedges! A disgrace to even call them by that name.”
I can’t so much as admire the flowers in a neighbor’s garden without Miss. Snooty jumping at me. “If only you spent some time on your flower beds, you wouldn’t have to turn green at the sight of someone else’s flower patch,” she admonishes.
So, this year, hoping to stem the scolding from the bossy lady, I gave myself a head start. Winter being a mild one – which meant a happy reprieve from sudden April frosts which nullify any premature gardening efforts – I started early this year. I began making rounds of the local nurseries as soon as March rolled in; and I was weeding, pruning and planting by the middle of the month.
As my new plants settled in, I began to anticipate the arrival of Miss. Slave Driver with barely contained glee. I was sure I’d one-upped her this year – she’d pat me on my back and applaud my resourcefulness.
Miss. Spring sashayed into my yard a couple of weeks ago, knotted her eyebrows at the budding annuals and perennials in my flower beds, and refused to utter one word of encouragement, let alone praise.
I would’ve somehow gotten over her lukewarm response towards my earnest – if modest – efforts if only she’d left it at that. No sir! She then stalked into my kitchen, shoved the pantry doors open and muttered, “Oh my! Is this the best you can do? I expected better from you.”
That’s when I threw in my shovel and scrambled after her. I hurriedly mixed a fresh drink of Mango Lassi, hoping to distract her before she took it upon herself to shed light on any more cupboards and closets.
You see, I desperately wanted to keep some of the murkier corners of my house hidden from Miss. Perfect; until inspection next year, at the very least.