Spring is totally out of control. Why can’t we have proper seasons like we used to have? The seasons need to learn to behave and come and go when expected. Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago that it was snowing? Now, suddenly, and with no warning whatsoever, the pear trees are blooming and the kids are playing baseball.

I’m still wearing turtle-neck sweaters, for heaven sakes!

Winter came and went so fast that I hardly knew it was here. I know time flies when you are having fun, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, but I’m not having fun yet. Could someone please issue a memo to Mother Nature to slow things down a bit until I can get my act together?

Before the grass had a chance to turn green, the lawn folks were calling to come and fertilize the lawn. “It’s too early,” I told them. “Wait until time for dandelions.” They waited a week. With all that fertilizer on it, the grass is growing its silly roots off.

The lawn mowing guy has called me three times already “I see you fertilized the lawn,” he said. “Are you ready for me to start mowing?” I knew it — stupid fertilizer has it growing like its on steroids. But it’s still winter, I thought. “Just start whenever it looks ready,” I said. He came the same day.

The buttercups have been blooming for weeks, but buttercups never did have any sense. They will bloom in the snow if you don’t watch them. Then my pink hyacinth had to do its thing. No use talking to it. Hyacinths don’t listen worth a flip.

I haven’t even raked the dead leaves that blew in during winter, much less thought about planting flowers. I’m certain that the garden centers couldn’t possibly have the spring plants out yet. I haven’t checked, of course, but they couldn’t do that to me.

Do you suppose I am going to have to do yard work? I see a few wild weeds starting to spring up and those green onions are a foot high. Oh, my aching back. How I hate green onions.

Maybe I won’t plant any flowers this year. I say that every year, though, and then I see the flats of flowers at Wal-Mart and can’t help myself. There is something in my brain that snaps in spring and makes me think I’m a farmer.

“Look, Mother Nature, can we make a deal? Turn back the clock a few weeks and I’ll try to be ready by then. You know what happens when you jump the gun. Jack Frost comes along and nips you in the bud, right where it hurts.”

If I were in charge of the seasons, I would put things on a schedule and not deviate from it. Flowers in March? Trees in bloom?

Not on my watch!

After I have done spring cleaning, put away winter clothes, called the termite folks out for an annual inspection, and checked out the garden shop, then I’ll consider inviting spring to come around. Flowers will bloom in May, and summer will arrive in June when it is supposed to, the way a civilized season ought to behave.

Now, that’s the way it would be if I were in charge.

But I’m not in charge. Spring is either drunk or losing its mind. The robins have been around so long they are growing beards and flowers are popping out of the ground in full bloom. You can’t reason with a wild-eyed season.

Anyhow, it’s time for my spring break now. If nobody else worries about nature acting frivolously, why should I? If spring comes before winter, baseball starts in December, the cow jumps over the moon and the dish runs away with the spoon, don’t call me. Take your complaints to Mother Nature.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Updated 2020