Even though it’s only early February here in Boise, the garden is already whispering that spring is on its way. It’s one of my favorite times of year for gardening with dogs, especially with Blue Belle by my side. We’ve seen the first flock of robins, and the resident birds are already flittering between the feeder and the safety of the trees. The air has that subtle shift — the one that makes you pause on the porch a moment longer, just to breathe it in. The crocuses are almost ready to burst into their purple mass of color, and soon the bumble bees will be buzzing in for their annual photo shoot.

Alaska Gardening Memories

Growing up in Alaska, we learned early to appreciate the fertile soil of our valley, and those lessons stayed with us. My brother, Ron, grew beans and even popcorn — yes, real popcorn — while my sisters Susie, Sharon, and I spent time in the garden with our mom, learning the names of flowers and discovering which ones could survive the cool summers. Mom would start her gladiolus bulbs indoors in milk cartons cut in half, lining them up on the windowsill like little promises of color.

Recently, Sharon reminded me of the spectacular wildflowers along the route to Anchorage — the bright Fireweed, the blue and purple Flags (wild iris), and the delicate shooting stars scattered across the fields. How could I forget? The moose, in their slow and steady way, always seemed to know just when the Fireweed was at its best. They would happily munch their way through the blooms. Fireweed was even considered a predictor of winter: once the flowers reached the top of the stalk and began forming seedpods, it meant snow wasn’t far behind. As the old saying goes, “When the fireweed goes to cotton, summer is soon forgotten.”

Alaska’s Wildflowers and Family Traditions

Our childhood memories stretch far beyond the flowers. We foraged wild raspberries and currants in the woods, and to this day I can still taste Mom’s wild currant jelly. She worked at the Alaska Experiment Station, where one of their projects involved fiddleheads. She would bring them home for dinner, and Ron remembers driving a van to Talkeetna to pick up fiddleheads that were later processed at the old creamery — the same place our dad once worked.

With all those beautiful blooms and flavors of our Alaska childhood, it’s still the tiny Forget‑Me‑Not — Alaska’s state flower — that has stayed closest to my heart. I’ve always loved their pretty blue petals, maybe because blue has always been my favorite color. I’ve planted Forget‑Me‑Nots here in my Boise garden, and one year, while visiting Sharon on her island in Washington State, I picked up some at a local garden center to give her as a gift. I brought a few home for myself too, tucked in beside the rocks I gathered from her island beach. Now, whenever I see those little blue flowers in spring and summer, I think of my Alaska home and my family. As a result, those memories still shape the way I approach gardening with dogs today.