December whipped into January, which blew into February, which tiptoed into March.

What a winter! Mornings so cold the simple act of dashing out to the driveway to fetch the paper seemed more daunting than running a 10k in the summer. Days that wrapped us in snow and freezing rain. Evenings that terrified us with black ice on highways.

If you're a fan of dig, I know what you were doing through the brutal weather. When you were able to nest, you collected seed catalogs, reviewed the plans you sketched out in the fall for spring planting and plucked books on perennials off your shelves.

Not me. When I'm gazing outside at a 2-foot snowbank, I have a hard time envisioning sinking my hands in soil. I need immediate gratification. That would be in the form of tulips, gerbera daisies, orchids and other blooms, planted firmly and with great care - in water-filled vases.

Feb. 14, after a long day at work and a none-too-swell commute, I staggered into the house, wandered into the family room and walked right by the best of this winter's floral arrangements.

I nearly ran into my youngest son. He was standing in the middle of the room, gesturing toward the kitchen. I was momentarily distracted by the hand he was waving around. I focused on one of his fingers, now and forever hyperextended, and remembered pacing in the waiting room during his two surgeries to repair a shattered bone (curse basketball, a brutal sport).

Next, I noticed the hair that hung almost to his shoulders. When did I last nag him to get a haircut? Would another lecture do a bit of good? And Lord, would he ever fill out his 6-foot-1-plus frame? Could I deep-fat fry every morsel of food I served? Would lifting weights help fill him out?

"Mom, these are for you," he said. "They're from all of us."

He was pointing to a dozen roses in shades of pink and red. Still wrapped in cellophane, they teetered out of a narrow vase, as if ready to jump ship.

"They're not tulips, are they, Mom?"

"No. They're roses," I replied.

"I guess I should have known. I saw those thorns when I brought them home and thought, 'Hmm, maybe tulips don't stab you.' "

Then he grinned. And I forgot about the warped finger, the long hair, the too-thin frame. When he smiles, he is transformed, from a boy you might not notice if he passed you on the street to a young man with humor, warmth and soul. It's in his steady gaze and his broad, mischievous grin.

One of his brothers is away at college, another all grown up. He is stuck being the sibling ambassador, and he's a fine representative of the crew.

He'll be off to college in a matter of months. Just striking the letters on the keyboard that spell out that last sentence makes me tear up. Empty-nester. How will I cope?

I need to find something to nurture. I've been a lazy gardener the past few years, and that's just not right. Gardening is therapy, and I know I'll need plenty of it as I prepare for the end of summer and a house far too quiet.

I can use all the advice I can get, readers. If you have a favorite gardening tip, or a story to share, please contact me. I'll share the best tips and stories in dig this year.

cotem@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-5169