A Conversation About The Sweet of the Year

Every spring my husband would come in from outside and announce that it was the “sweet of the year.” He was a skilled gardener and gifted fisherman and very attuned to what was happening around him in the natural world. Today as I was strolling about with the dog on our morning perambulation, I experienced it first hand for the first time. The roses and the Dame’s Rocket were cranking out scent along with the remnants of the Japanese honeysuckle. The birds were still active and vocal, but the frantic courtship and nest building were done. Discarded eggshells littered the lanes where the parents had carried them from the nests when the babies hatched. There were more lullabies than desperation. There was a small breeze, enough to keep the biting insects at bay. The sunshine was not yet filtered with a layer of humidity, and the silhouettes of the Catskills rose crisply against a perfect blue sky. The trees were gleaming with the subtle colors among the leaves that would appear again in the autumn in a 

And then my tiny mind began to whirl. Where did that phrase come from? So I poked around on the net. Turns out Mr. Shakespeare started it, describing a perfect English spring. With a “hey and a no and a hey nonny no.”  The “nonny no” stuff has become out dated. The sweet of the year idea remains in all its glory.

There are other unique things that happen this time of year. You just have to be there. In past years I often witnessed pollen explosions from a pair of huge pines by my driveway. A gust of wind would hit just right and thousands of those “candles” would release their pollen simultaneously. A golden cloud would drift majestically from the tree, wafted by the wind to any available manmade surface. Like cars, porches and any available glass. This is the pollen high point of the year. I was reminded of the pollen clouds from the long-gone pines yesterday afternoon. I’ve already been taking allergy medication, but was thankful all over again. A rain shower hammered the yard and I scampered inside for the few minutes it lasted. When I went back outside to resume my work, I was confused for a minute. The rain had pooled in a few spots around the area where I was working, and there was a ring of yellow all around each pool. The rain had swept up some of the pollen I had been sucking in as I worked and literally cleared the air. Yay, me!

Most gardeners are grateful souls. We’re usually happy with what we discover each day. Happy is not the same as contented. I prowl the gardens for the late bloomers… or what I consider the late bloomers. They’re not late. I’m greedy. Each new arrival is greeted as if I hadn’t ever seen it before, even if I’ve been growing it for decades. Even weeding becomes an adventure as I rediscover whimsical ornaments or disturb a garter snake.  For my husband, the sweet of the year was a moment of magic. For me, it’s not unlike a birthday. Show me the rule that says it can only last a single day!