Arrival of spring helps lift a hopeful heart.

Byline: Write On by Debbie Parker For The Register-Guard

I am weary of the colorless landscape. I have had ample time to appreciate the lines of naked limbs, the consistency of ground unbroken by bulbs and perennials. I've had quite enough of the earthy tones in my yard, thank you. I am impatient for some audacious bursts of color.

Our little yard, along with our house, is less than two years old. My husband, our then 10-year-old son and I built it with the help of some hired experts. The landscaping budget, an afterthought, just barely covered the sprinkler system and grass.

We began building one June day, and it was the next June that we moved in. As the official overseer of the yard, I slowly began the task of filling in the flower beds. Handfuls of flowering bulbs were bought on dozens - no, hundreds - of grocery shopping trips. One could not turn over a shovel now without finding one or more flower bulbs in it.

I pored over catalogs and spent countless Internet hours choosing desirable and affordable bare root trees. As expected, they arrived as small sticks with a root or two. We will mark our years watching them grow.

When the variegated leaf dogwood was delivered, our dog uncharacteristically chewed it in half. Nevertheless, the bottom six inches was hopefully planted. Its form is now perfection in miniature. This tree has obediently more than doubled its size.

The evergreen magnolia is now 16 inches tall. I don't know how long we will wait until we see its butter yellow fragrant blooms appear. I don't even how tall it will get. It is a rare and unfamiliar specimen found in China and seems content in its corner of dappled shade. The 11-inch white lilac tree with its promise of late fragrant blooms has not grown one bit since being planted two years ago. I have occasionally bent the pliant twig, dreading but never hearing the snap of dead wood. Today I look closely and yes, there, ever so tiny, are some leaf buds just beginning to bulge from the bark.

I imagine a future conversation with some future child. "This tree was only 11-inches tall when we planted it. It refused to grow for over a year, but I kept watering it and hoping it would live," I will say. "And look at it now."

Our neighbor's daughter, Emma, having just mastered the art of walking, was not quite as tall as the daffodils last year. I remember the sunlight fairly bouncing about her little round red head and those yellow daffodils, bobbing in the breeze. Emma and her family will be moving to Idaho in March, and I will miss them.

Our son is now 13 and will continue to mow the grass with a push mower for at least another five years. The mower doesn't do a very good job, but I like the low maintenance. I think mowing the grass is a good chore for our boy. I hope he will look back someday, when a sound or smell jars his memory, with a fondness for the times of mowing grass. Times of his growing up in this house, on this street.

Our house is a newcomer in an established neighborhood of non-conforming free spirited homes. I think it needs some sort of purple yard decoration, a nod to the spirit of the street. I haven't found the right purple something as yet. There is now a beautiful house, newer than ours, on the block. Freshly occupied, but not yet painted. An old VW bug is the mode of transportation for one of the occupants.

This was the place we came home to on Sept. 11. It was yesterday that the space shuttle exploded over Texas. I pray for the astronauts and their families, for peace on this entire Earth.

This day, I am especially thankful for my family, my friends; I feel comfort to the heart. I anticipate my hopes and expectations for spring. For bountiful color, some surprises, some challenges, nurturing and weeding, some work and some sitting and enjoying.

I slip into my rubber clogs, unfurl my umbrella, and step out with a hopeful heart, searching for new growth.

Debbie Parker of Eugene works as a library assistant/ textbook specialist at Churchill High School and is involved with the Kelly Middle School site council.

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