We had a dusting of snow last weekend, not the inch earnestly predicted the night before but enough that the forecaster beamed smugly at his success the next morning. He scored another success when the weather promptly flipped back to spring-like warmth.

Yet even with his recent victories through science, I still rely on some winter warriors in my garden for a better indicator of when the frosts are finally passing. These little soldiers in regulation green are flowering bulbs, transplants from harsher climates where they have to judge the arrival of an all too brief spring to perpetuate their kind.

They spend most of the gardening year underground, having seized as much nourishment as possible from the spring sun to form a strong bulb with a flower for the next spring bloom. In late winter, they poke little green shoots just above the ground, waiting for the right signs to show that spring is about to arrive. They can wait patiently for weeks through variable weather as the days steadily lengthen.

Finally, they decide that spring is at hand and the green shoots grow tall and thick. Plump buds soon follow, and the soldiers turn into flirtatious vixens offering a sip of sweetness to the roaming insects carrying the price of pollen gold. This spring revelry provides us with a welcome burst of color after the drabness of winter, marking the turn of the seasons as surely as the forecasters and the constellations.

They have a bit of an advantage, in fact, since they are living in the microclimate of my garden. We're a bit warmer in the city than in the outlying areas, and the few degrees of difference can mean a little longer gardening season if one is willing to rush out with mulch and other garden aids in case of an unseasonable freeze.

I've been pampering the cabbages set out early with light coverings of shredded paper at night, tracking the forecasters' predictions while watching those green shoots rapidly growing in spite of the night frosts. The leaves are about four to six inches tall now, so the flowers won't be too long in coming. The early blooming shrubs have joined them in opening tender leaves and a few tiny blooms. Even the roses are sprinkled with new shoots opening their pink-tinged young leaves.

One thing they couldn't have predicted was the reason for the demise of my smallest cabbage seedlings. I caught the cats comfortably nestling in the rings of mulch around the seedlings, smugly smiling at their good fortune in finding such a soft, cozy bed. The smallest seedlings made the least impediment to circling several times before settling into their improvised nests, so those are the rings that took the worst squashing. Once again, I reminded myself that it was a good thing for the cats that they got to be so beloved by the family when they were kittens.

Another spring soldier is the dog living two houses down the block. He spends a great deal of time watching for the threatening gardener two chain link fences away from his house, barking a call to action to his master whenever he spots me. It wasn't too bad when I was only spreading mulch, but the sight of gardening tools has aroused his canine instincts to a new level of high alert. Perhaps he suspects that I am going to tunnel into his yard with every little planting hole scooped out of the beds. In any case, he bravely roars out his alarm until the enemy and her cats have been vanquished from the yard.

The cats view him with some annoyance, their stalks of the local wildlife disrupted by his misguided alerts. The birds and squirrels are warned far more often than his master, much to the cats' displeasure. It would be useful if he barked at the wildlife when they are digging around in my garden, but he happily patrols his yard without a peep as they scavenge newly planted beds with gusto. Only when the cats and I return to tend the garden does he express his displeasure.

The cats are impatient to return to their outdoor life, encouraged by the warming nights. Last night was the first spring-like night, an early taste of the pleasant nights soon to come. It will return to a more seasonable chill soon enough, but winter's grip is already loosening somewhat as the sun strengthens in its early rising to quickly warm the day.

An extra February day this year will only punctuate the transition to the turbulent days of March, already tempting me to start a few tomato seeds to join the ugly duckling thriving in its big pot. I set out a few broccoli plants and sowed some more peas, lettuce, beets, Swiss chard, and mustard. It is still an early gamble, but I have lots of shredded paper to lightly toss over the plants if needed. I'm hoping the cats will stick to their cabbage patch nests and not treat the rest of the garden as a cat hotel.

The soil in those areas was gratifyingly darker and looser than last year. The mulched leaves and paper of the fall broke down a great deal over the winter, adding to the compost there. Baby and Rapunzel are also noticing the change of the seasons, their loads slightly warmer than air temperature yesterday when I added more paper to them. It is still too chilly for the soil microorganisms in their loads to devour their new offerings with much gusto, but they survived the winter as well.

I'm still knitting those sweaters despite the telescoping schedule piling tasks upon tasks. I finished the second sweater and have the third sweater about two-thirds done. I'll have that project finished for the season soon. Perhaps then I can get back to the quilting and sewing, but for now all I can do is tend to impatient seedlings and occasionally drool over the new offerings at fabric.com. I missed out on some geometric patterned fabrics that would have been great for a project I wanted to do, but I have too many projects waiting to buy more. The Bible says to get the outdoor work done first and then build the house, and gardening tasks won't wait for sewing.

The organizer is diligently compiling a growing list of things that could be planted in its list, and they all need their beds cleared and prepared. Now that the leaves are gone from most of the shrubs, I can see better which ones still need more pruning back to a more compact form and it is a dreadful sight. I'm back to pruning back stuff before garbage pick-up day, leaving a nice pile to throw into the truck along with the bagged trash. If I time it right, the regular crew is supposed to take it instead of leaving it for a yard waste pick-up, but they must think that I'm cutting down a forest for them to remove.