The winter had been long and snowmelt gave way to an abundance of violets along the edge of the backyard next to the woods. Out in the yard, grass grew and so did dandelions. Unlike the well-behaved violets that stuck to the edges, dandelions invaded as much open space as they could. My plan was to mow the lawn and bag up the mulch before the unruly dandelions turned to seed. l don't utterly dislike dandelions. I know how important their early blooms are to the bees and to the family of rabbits that live under my deck. But there is a point when I have to step in to regulate the seeding of those wild-child blooms for the sake of all the other growing things. Why can’t dandelions be more like violets?
I don't know when it happened, but, sometime in the past five years I have become more aware of what Mother Nature contributes to my "yarden,” and in doing so we have established a partnership of sorts between us. I've started to let a few wild things grow in my flowerbeds. A family of milkweed pops up under the Norway pine in my hosta bed catching the afternoon sun. I leave it for the caterpillars. Dill randomly shows up between the day lilies and along the edging of the front flowerbed. I don’t pull it out because it’s good for the butterflies. I no longer put chemicals on my lawn and I dream of a backyard carpeted in clover. In fact I have started top seeding clover a little each year. I love the softness of it. I love its beautiful resilience to drought and cold. I love the smell, and I love the bees. But for now, I have a lawn of mostly grass and a good measure of dandelions to mow.
I started mowing at the edge near the woods careful to not touch the violets. Even in their wildness, they had created a natural, fragrant border of purple beauty. Back and forth I went, walking in straight lines, my senses filling with the smell of fresh cut greenness. I mowed the dandelions, grateful that their withering blooms were being sucked into the mulch bag before they dispersed seed all over the yard. The yard was looking great. And then I saw it. A clump of violets in the middle of the yard, far away from the rest of the violets. The rogue bunch was blooming as boldly as the dandelions had a few days before. As I approached, I was thrown into a gardener’s dilemma. Shall I mow them down to keep an even height of greenness in the yard? Shall I let them grow? How the heck did violets get this far out into the yard anyway? I kept walking, my eyes on their delicate blooms and how lovely they looked against the green. Just before the front of the lawnmower touched their leaves, I stopped.
I have fond memories of violets and for a moment I was taken back to my childhood -I am running barefoot out to the far pasture before Dad turns the cows out for the summer. I know exactly where to go. I know where the violets bloom every spring in a small meadow surrounded on three sides of woods. I am there in the woods and through the woods. I am there in the spring sunshine, bending low to pick the tiny, delicate stems of violets. I am there on the cow path running back to the house, wiggling under the fence, running up the hill with the dog at my heels, needing to get to the house before the tender flowers wilt. I am bursting into the kitchen with the gift behind my back. "I've got a surprise for you!" I say. My arm whips around in grandeur to present a purple bouquet to my mother. And then I am in her arms and the violets are safe in a vase on the table, and life is oh so good.
The lawnmower idled, waiting for me to proceed. I pushed down on the handle, lifted the front wheels and pivoted around the violets. Their blooms are as fleeting and precious as childhood. There will be a time when the petals wither and fall and leaf will be left to blend in with the grass. But for now, let them have their days in the sun. I know of their resilient roots. I know they will be back next year, blooming with the yellow dandelions and the white clover that I will sow around them. And what if they spread? Oh, I think I will just take off my shoes and run barefoot. One could do worse than have a yard full of purple violets.