I live in what could be deemed Natures Amusement Park – otherwise known as spring in the south. The park consists mostly of thrill rides (60 degree days in February, 22 degree nights in March), and of course carnival games you cannot win (predict the last frost date at your own peril, loose your fig tree even before it gives you a fig). I try not to engage, not to get excited by those early warm days of false spring. I stare at the calendar and tell myself no, no, no – do not shop for lilies now, it is cruel to both you and the lilies. But the first soft rain blurs the dates and my heart starts humming “Spring” by Vivaldi. Who is really afraid of that old, silly wooden roller coaster? Not me!

And so like the call of an old time carnival barker who knows a sucker when she sees one, spring lured me in. A few sunny days, the slow creeping of the thermometer to temperatures above 50. And then the first green shoots above the mulch. Spikey little crocus leaves, the broader flat daffodils. Another day, another rain and suddenly a pinch of color by the ground, a soft purple against the brown. One brave little crocus indeed. But what took my breath away was waking up to the tall shock of yellow against the woods. A daffodil. Like pure sunshine in glass it stood stark in the winter garden.

It’s too early, my pragmatic Northern brain warned. We are only 10 days into February. It will snow!

No its not, my hopeful Southern heart whispered in my ear. February is almost half over! It was 65 yesterday!

Soon more crocus burst wide their buds, like a game of connect the dots along the lower garden. And like daring young girls who choose to go sleeveless in March, the daffodils were radiant patches of yellow and green along the stone path. There was no fear here.

The heart wants what the heart wants, but the brain is smart enough to hear the warning sound of a roller coaster in motion. The click, click, click of the coaster car climbing the first large loop as the temps broke through 65, then 70! And then the obnoxious five day forecast from Alexa, showing the steep drop below, the dreaded hard freeze warning on my weather app. My heart simply closed its eyes, painting roses and tulips in bright shades of watercolor. But my brain remained focused with fear, unable to look away from the impending disaster. The coaster ride was locked, loaded and there was no getting off.

The morning after the first sub-freezing night I looked at the garden from the window, it showed no outward sign of damage. The day itself remained cold, never above 30. The predicted low for the next night was 19. It seemed unnatural that everything wasn’t brown or turned to mush. As I walked along the stone path I touched one of the daffodils. It was frozen solid. A bright yellow popsicle. The crocus were also frozen, folded up from the night before, they looked like ice crystals in sunlight; brightly colored, but ice none the less. Did this mean they would die and melt when they warmed? I was heart broken. My husband looked at me exasperated. “They make their own antifreeze. They’ll be fine.”

And just like that the 19 degree night was followed by a 54 degree day, and the flowers stayed bright and colorful, no melting puddles of daffodil yellow. There was the occasional burnt leaf tip, a setback in some of the too early perennials. But green shoots continued to push through, dismissive of the weather forecast and the subfreezing nights ahead. Fear is clearly a human emotion, but none exists in the spring garden, calendar be damned.

It is now the second week of March and everything seems to have some life to it. The many varieties of daffodils are a daily pleasure, while looking for new growth on old perennials is a treasure hunt we do twice a day. And while we know the risk of a freeze is still quite real (ask any azalea lover) we’ve already put in the summer bulbs and bareroot plantings, embracing the Magic 8 Balls prediction that spring is here (“Count on it”). Because what is spring without some temptation and a little heartache? It would be an amusement park without rides. And who really wants that?