It’s Time to Get Ready for Spring!

I know. It seems ridiculous, doesn’t it. Summer’s not done with us yet; the temperature is supposed to be back into the 90’s later in the week. Meanwhile …

Many years ago, thirty or so, I think, my Dad planted some iris rhizomes in a bed at the back of the house. I remember them blooming. And, when we moved in, in the fall twelve years ago, they were still there. They came up, mightily, with the bed filled to the brim with leaves. And, a few flowers bloomed. Each year, fewer and fewer flowers appeared, even though leaves came up, as strong and plentiful as ever. It seemed like it might be time to make a change.

Fall is the planting time for those sorts of plants, and I thought I should get those old rhizomes out of the ground and make a new plan. One day a couple of weeks ago, when there were some clouds, and when the sun had moved on to the front part of the house, I hosed down the dry, hard, dirt, waited for the water to soak in, and then put on my gardening gloves and got to work.

The job required about ten times the amount of hours that I thought would be required. I read once that a human adult’s intestinal track is between 25 and 28 feet long. It’s hard to imagine all that inside our abdominal cavity. I can imagine that, if I had shaved off the top three or four inches of dirt from the mass of ancient iris rhizomes in a flower bed 3 by 14 feet, I’d have seen, first hand, the unimaginable squash of ancient, worn-out, couldn’t-produce-a-flower-if-it-tried maze of rhizomes, and it might have resembled the squashed-up intestines in a human adult’s gut.

These things look to me like some sort of tentacled sea creature, from the deep, deep part of the ocean. (I also dug up lots of rocks.

As it was, I just started digging up the ground with a garden trowel. Those things were deeper than I had imagined. I rubbed a blister on my palm (and I was wearing gardening gloves). The next day, after putting two layers of Band-Aids on my palm, I got the garden fork, and started digging up the dirt a little more efficiently. Still, I spent lots of time pulling and tugging at the twists of rhizomes. The dirt is clay-like, heavy and sticky.

There were a couple of sets of healthy-looking iris leaves attached to some stronger-looking rhizomes. And, there were three or four round bulbs. I don’t know what they were, because nothing had bloomed in years. But, I took the iris leaves and the bulbs to the nursery for advice. I explained my situation to the nursery lady, describing how old the plants were and how nothing had bloomed in ages. I showed her what I had. She thought the round bulbs were some kind of lilies, and thought they might bloom. The iris rhizome with the leaves attached also looked salvageable. I showed her one of the tired, strange-looking things. “And what are these?” I asked. “Old, worn-out irises. They won’t bloom any more.”

I bought some compost to dig into the bed, to revitalize the dirt and help it not be so dense and sticky. I spread five bags-worth on the bed and dug it in. Well, as much as I’m able to dig. But, even after days and days of working in the bed, I still dug up a few more of those old, tired iris rhizomes.

God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction.

Psalm 23: 1-3 (The Message)

Meanwhile–