Our wacky spring weather has taught me a lesson, again: I am so NOT in control of anything in nature.

In my last blog, I pledged to get my tomato seedlings planted before the self-imposed deadline of April 15. Didn’t happen. I had to wait out the frost warnings and hailstorms that rolled through. Then when rain soaked the soil (which was really very welcome), I had to wait a few more days for it to dry out. But wait I did, and the tomato seedlings are now happily in the soil, soaking up warmth and sunshine, nearly doubling in size after just a week. 

So patience paid off. I’ll try to remember that next year when tomato-planting season comes around.

This made me think of other areas of the yard where patience comes into play. We have three well-established rose bushes, which were planted by the previous owner of our 36-year-old home. Because I am not a rose fancier (the blossoms are lovely, but the plants are a thorny, unattractive pain, in my opinion), I have steadfastly refused to fuss over these roses. I do not prune them in winter. I do not spray off the aphids in spring. I do not deadhead the fading blossoms. I never, ever fertilize the plants. Mind you, I am not trying to kill them. I simply do not have any patience for the problems they bring.

You know what? Those darned roses thrive, putting on dinner-plate-sized blossoms all spring and deep-orange rosehips the rest of the year.

In that sense, having no patience (call it laziness or benign neglect) has its benefits. But, lesson learned: Mother Nature is driving this bus, not me. Guess I’d better buckle up and enjoy the ride.