Spring is really struggling to break through around here. I could let it pull me down—the snowy, gray days. By now, I’m just sick of the gray, blah days more than anything and the cold. Worse are those days when it’s impossible to walk outside. This spring has actually been worse for that than the whole of this winter.

The snow is a relief, in a way, at least compared to those sunless days and this morning, it was accompanied with thunder and lightning. Now, that’s more like it. As long as we have to suffer the snow, let’s have a little drama. Snowdrops, after struggling mightily the last few years have multiplied and made their show a few weeks ago, but they’re hanging in there. Kind of like scouts for the crocus, just now trying to brave the snow and wind.

At the start of last week my tiny mini Japanese iris made their quiet appearance, and as luck would have it, I actually got to catch them at their best. They are the sweetest flower, but so fleeting. I love the dark purple with their dots of yellow. More often than not though, I miss them. They are so early in the year I’m not even walking around my yard looking for spring yet, but this year, I picked a few and they lasted in my office several days.

The garlic is up. I’ve worried over them all winter. We tried a different location this year, of course, and I wasn’t at all certain they’d like it. This will be the third year I’ve planted garlic. Last year was such a success and a hoot. I planted Elephant garlic, the bulbs as big as softballs, but so easy to use I really wanted to plant more, but I also planted two other varieties—54 bulbs, in all.

But it’s the pansies and violas that lift my heart and mood. They make me smile. All winter long if the snow melts off of the lilac or Japanese maple garden, they’re ready and willing. They thrive with adversity. All I have to do is pinch off the snow-burned leaves or blooms and they send out new, eager sun-facing blossoms.

Last fall I picked the simple violas I remember from my childhood to plant there. We called them Johnny Jump-ups when we were kids, those common little purple and yellow blossoms.

I’ve had at least a few Johnny Jump-ups in my backyard every year, for much the same reason as my mother. A friend of my youngest son brought me a two-inch plant many, many years ago on Mother’s Day. They were giving the plants to the mother’s at church, but I wasn’t there. He thought I ought to have one.

Though I’m usually compulsive about dead-heading, I make sure I never pinch back all the seed-pods on these. I’ve put chicken noodle soup in the crockpot and last fall, I decided nothing would bring a smile faster than seeing Johnnie-Jump-Ups blooming in the front gardens.

Today as I watch fat, lazy snowflakes fall, smell the aroma of chicken broth and thyme, I’m so glad I filled my garden with those brave, sturdy flowers. They set a great example. The chicken soup won’t hurt, either.

Life knocks a man down and he gits up and it knocks him down agin….

What’s he to do when he gits knocked down? Why, take it for his share and go on. —

The Yearling, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, 1939