When I was in first grade, we learned a song about pussywillows that still rings in my head when I walk past the fire pond in Cornish Flat. Or it did recently when I saw pussywillows starting to pop open in a marshy area. Spring is here.

Pussywillows are actually the flowers of a wild shrub or small tree, the goat or pussy willow, also known by its scientific name, Salix caprea. This willow is a native to the United States and grows best in moist or soggy soils, or even in standing water. Full sun is best, but it can grow in part sun. It will grow up to 25 feet tall, but 15 feet is more common. The flowers grow on the top of the plant, so I use a pole pruner to get the branches I want.

Another willow, Salix discolor, is also a pussywillow, but is “susceptible to a canker and is considered inferior for landscape use, though neither species is a plant of the first order.” That according to Michael Dirr in his book “Manual of Woody Landscape Plants,” which I consider my bible of trees and shrubs.

He is right about pussywillows not being plants of the first order. Their time of glory is the spring, when the catkins or blossoms appear. The rest of the year it is a relatively unkempt, messy plant that spreads and is often too large to be considered a shrub, but not big enough to be considered a tree.

The stems are weak, sometimes flopping over and easily breaking in ice storms. Still, if you have a wet area on your property, and like fat, fuzzy pussywillows in the spring, you should have some.

When I picked some pussywillow stems recently, I put them in a vase with water. This will encourage partially opened buds to open. Later, when all the blossoms are fully open, I will pour out the water and allow the stems to remain in a dry vase. This will prevent them from producing yellow pollen (which will fall on the table top) and allow me to have the fuzzies forever, or as long as I want. One year, inadvertently, I kept a vase of pussywillows for a full year, and they still looked good.

Another plant that can be forced to flower now looks similar to pussywillows at a quick glance. I have a tree covered with fuzzy buds that are actually unopened flower buds that look like the pussywillow flowers. The hybrid magnolia “Merrill” has these buds all winter, but when put in water now the buds will produce large white blossoms. Other magnolias have similar buds — like pussywillows on steroids.

The Merrill magnolia will generally bloom for me in late April. The closer to the date of outdoor blooming, the quicker buds will open in a vase indoors. I once did some pruning in December and forced magnolia buds indoors, but it took over a month for that to happen. Now it should happen in half that time (though pussywillow buds will open in just a few days).

My Merrill magnolia is one of my favorite trees. Mine is about 25 years old, and is roughly 30 feet tall with a 20-foot spread. When it blooms the flowers are bountiful — a thousand, perhaps — and magnificent. Each blossom is about 3 inches across and lightly fragrant. I recommend this magnolia as specimen tree in the middle of a lawn or field in full sun.

Another classic early spring shrub is forsythia. Like the daffodil, this early bloomer is bright yellow, a color I have come to associate with spring. It can be used as a hedge, or pruned into a vase-shaped shrub that stays relatively small, say 8 feet tall and 6 feet wide.

To get forsythia to bloom indoors, pick stems that are more than one year old. New stems are generally straight, with few side branches and even fewer buds. The buds on new branches tend to be leaf buds. Older branches will be branched, and loaded with flower buds. And for best results, don’t forget to change the water in the vase every two or three days.

Forsythia is a nice enough plant, but like pussywillows, it is not my favorite. It is rambunctious, for starters. It wants to take over the world, sending out roots that then send up new plants. My neighbor planted a forsythia hedge, and now I have forsythia that has encroached onto my land. Fortunately, it is easy enough to control if you pull out new shoots early on. Or failing that, cut them back every year.

As a child, however, I loved forsythia. My gardening grandfather planted a double row of them between the house and the vegetable garden. As the plants grew and spread they became a dense thicket perhaps 40 feet long, 10 feet wide and 10 feet tall. My sister Ruth Anne and I discovered that if we crawled into this thicket there was a hidden ”room” in the middle where we could hide from adults on hot summer days.

Apple blossoms are great for forcing, too. When I prune in March, I take branches with short fruit spurs, put them in a vase, and get flowers. At this time of year, one can’t have too many blossoms.