Wandering in the garden with the sun’s last slanting light…it’s National Garden Month, and I thought to write about the lettuce seedlings that are thriving in the tunnel and reflect on growing plants that I am going to eat. They are really handsome in all their green and red speckled and curly forms. But my eye drifted to a clump of sweet violets that have insinuated themselves next to the rocks that line the raspberry bed and before I knew it was was on my hands and knees looking closely. I have known this flower forever and ever–it has probably grown at nearly every place I’ve lived. Brought west with pioneers, it is a sturdy reminder of home and domesticity. And it smells good. It creeps around the yard, turning up here and there. I pull it out by the handfuls to make room for other flowers, knowing I could never totally eradicate it. Between the seeds and the runners, it’s too persistent. Violets quietly put me on notice that my “control” around the garden is an illusion. I may think I’m in charge with my schemes and plans, but like everything else in life the garden is a journey, not the destination.

Besides National Poetry Month and National Lawn and Garden Month, April is also National Humor Month, International Guitar Month, National Safe Digging Month and National Welding Month. Not only that, April is chock-full of obscure holidays such as Zucchini Bread Day on the 23rd. And darn it, I missed Ex Spouse Day on the 14th. Thank goodness for the Internet or I would never know these things. See for yourself here.

But seriously, I might just declare this my own Private Violet Appreciation Day. Every kitchen windowsill needs a tiny bouquet to send out that powdery spring scent while the hands swim around in the dishwater to find the forks and spoons. A spot of purple to bathe the eyes while the ears are tuned to catch the notes of a white-crowned sparrow’s song. The whole world in a blossom…