The other day I found myself feeling something I haven’t felt for well over a year: anticipation. I was outside, playing with the dogs, and while they were busy teasing each other and frolicking, I took a few minutes to start cleaning up a flower bed.

I was pleased to see my daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths seem to have weathered the unexpectedly wintry March weather we’ve had, and my crocuses were already in full bloom. In my mind, I was already starting to plan what annuals I would add to which beds, where more perennials could be placed, and what color scheme I would use for the porch flowers.

I love flowers. I don’t have the greenest thumb in the world, which is one of the reasons I like cut flowers, because they’re already on their way out and I don’t have to worry about doing them in. But, I also don’t quite have a black thumb either. For example, I can manage to keep a few dozen potted plants alive on my porch all summer long, but I can’t say that they won’t get droopy from time to time, and by September, they’re ready to give up the ghost and I’m ready to toss them in the compost pile.

Steve didn’t see the allure of cut flowers. In fact, the only time he ever got me a cut flower was for our first two Valentine’s Days. However, Steve loved to plant all kinds of stuff. At the time, his haphazard way of throwing bulbs in over here or dumping a packet of wild flower seeds over there drove me a little crazy. I like patterns and color schemes. I like to plot out a garden, carefully planning the life cycles of plants to be sure that something is always in bloom. Steve’s “plan” somehow yielded plants in bloom all of the time, but that’s where our approaches stop having anything in common.

Now, I feel like my flower beds are the gift that he has managed to keep giving me. I still have no idea what is going to pop up where or when. I still have to pull out the plant identifying app to make sure I don’t accidentally pull out something that might look like a weed this week, but might bloom into something gorgeous next month.

I’m still aggravated when short flowers pop up behind tall flowers and patterns aren’t followed. But the lovely thing about all of the perennials that he planted is that they keep growing and multiplying and in their own meandering way, they’re settling into their own unique mosaic.

Last year, while I was still pretty much in survival mode, working in the flower beds was a way to keep myself busy. I could set a goal for myself to clean out and mulch one bed and most days, it was a small thing that I knew I could accomplish. I really needed that kind of activity then. To be honest, I still need it now. I haven’t gotten that much beyond survival mode, although, I think looking forward to working on my flower gardens is one small area where I might finally be able to do more than just survive.

Last year, I ordered what I thought would be more than enough mulch. Upon its delivery, it was clear I would need much more. So, I got another delivery of mulch. Then, I still fell short, so it took yet another delivery to get my beds covered. This year, I already know how much I will need to cover my existing beds, and I have a much better idea of how much extra I will need for my new plans. It might not sound like a big deal, but when just about every other small project I try to undertake ends up with me phoning a friend or bugging someone else for the information I need to finish it, it’s nice to be able to be the one calling the shots for a change, even if it is just a mulch delivery.

I’m also proud that for the most part, it seems like I’ve managed to keep all of the plants alive and thriving on my own. Sure, we did have a somewhat mild winter, but as I see new buds starting to form on my hydrangea, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that I managed not to kill something else.

As the tulip clusters are emerging from the ground, I am happy to report they are thicker and healthier than ever. As one small forsythia bloom finally opened, a load lifted from my shoulders. It was a relief that my clumsy attempt at pruning the small bush didn’t end in failure.

I may even be getting emboldened by my minor successes and starting to think about planting some new shrubbery or another lilac bush or two. I am fighting my own urges to place things in pretty patterns and plan everything to the smallest petal and I’m trying to follow Steve’s philosophy of things being inexpensive and random. His road map of chaos is ideal for me because I don’t want to disturb anything he planted, but I do want to add to it and enhance it.

To that end, I have my trusty helpers, Duncan and Henson. They enjoy nothing more than digging up bulbs and relocating them. The other day, I found a lone crocus right in the middle of my yard, no doubt their handiwork. I let it bloom, and then may have shed a tear or two when the same haphazard gardeners plowed over it a few days later during a rather rambunctious case of the zoomies. I can’t wait to see what other surprises are in store for me this year as things start to bloom.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing columnist who appears weekly in the Times News.