As a kid always hated spring. It was a rainy messy time. Going out was a perpetual step into the soggy ground and puddles of the earth. Grey twigs on the trees, tan, thatchy grass. Still not warm enough to go without a coat. My grandmother yelling that I should put a hat on. Coming home muddy and dirty and feeling like a criminal for it. School seemed like it would never end. It was my time to be disgruntled.
I look at spring a little differently now. Yes, the browns and tans and grays are still there. The temperature is still chilly but I am less impatient. I am happy to wear a sweat shirt and galoshes ("that splishes and sploshes") and check out the multitudes of changes that happen day by day. Little things give me a thrill. Patience is not for the very young. They want all things now, they are growing like asparagus that springs up over night. I am more like some cautious old walnut tree (the last to leaf and the first to loose those leaves) that takes its time, feels the air, watches the birds, seeks the sunshine and slowly but surely puts out tiny budletts that turn from brown, to pink, to green. I am the pink haze in the treetops against the sometimes blue, sometimes gray sky that gives hope that spring is doing its job and nature is awakening.
As I pick up sticks and twigs for my tinder pile I examine little jewels in my garden and wonder if I should uncover them yet. The weather can be treacherous at this time of year and I opt to keep their nestled glory intact. No need to share with everyone yet. I like secrets. Crocuses, purple, yellow and white are showing their vibrant intention of announcing spring. Sweet hardy things that are disappointingly tiny but minuscule jewel-toned marvels. They must be delicious for I have planted many and only the strong survive. Or maybe the strong fat bulbs are the sweetest and easiest to find and the raccoons, squirrels or skunks munch on them and leave the little ones to peep out (they will get them next year when they are bigger). No wonder my crocus are puny.
The galanthus, otherwise known as snowdrops, are blooming as well. Funny to think that they are related to the enormous amaryllis of Christmas time fame. Tiny, white, little droopy flowers that face downwards as if longing to go back under the ground where it is relatively warm and comfy. Alongside them are the beautiful fragrant and deadly lily of the valley. Odd to think that something so delicate and alluring could be so poisonous. They have multiplied over the years and from what I have observed, seems like wild animals and I have different ideas of what smells wonderful. Consequently, the lily of the valley remain intact.
The daffy down dillies are coming in herds. They are brave but foolish. I keep thinking I should spread some bulb food on them and then they will look like the catalogues that flourish in my mailbox in the spring. In the catalogues the are huge and crowded and make a fair field of yellow heads that cannot help but delight the eye . In my avenue of daffodils they are short and stubby and never all bloom at the same time. Its pretty. Its cute, they are trying. But it's sort of pitiful at the same time. I would have an abundance, they give me a sprinkling.
Do I sound like I am whining? Forgive me if I do or am. I appreciate their efforts and am happy to watch their progress. They herald so many other good things to come. Tulips and hyacinths, balloon flowers and daisies. sedum with their berry-like beads of leaves and hostas with their wine red spears ready to do battle with the elements. Lillies and lilacs and rhododendron and a dogwood or two , if the deer have allowed. Spring is tantalizing and I guess we all feel like kids when we get our first taste of its warm kisses.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Blog #5 WHAT NATURE KNOWS
As I opened the door this morning to let the cats out I checked the temperature. Sixty degrees. How can it seem so cold and yet be so warm? It is the sound of the rain pattering on the remainder of the leaves in the back yard. I lookout at pools of water in the depressions of my yard and see the raindrops forming rings. The cat looks up at me as if to say you can turn off the water now. Really, I would if I could. I love to see the sunshine in the morning. It can rain in the afternoon if it wants, but sunshine in the morning sets the day up right.
There are so many different sounds in the yard now, I don't recognize who's singing what but I do know that the caws of the crows and the honks from the geese have been joined by a chorus of other birds that are glad to be home in my backyard. They whistle and tweet and I do my best to imitate their sounds. They thrill me by answering my pitiful attempts at replication and we play for a while as I try to locate the source of my echoes.
The squirrels have been playing and bickering in the trees. I am sure they are somewhat dismayed to find that some of their bridges from one tree to the next have been taken down. Beautiful ash trees that had many years before them had it not been for the emerald ash borer and their wraith of destruction. The squirrels seem a little disgruntled and it makes me sad as well.
But the most distinctive thing in the yard to date is the little green teeth that are biting their way to the surface of the black mulch. Iris have very pointy leaves and they look fierce against the foundation of the house. They will not be denied the sunshine any longer. They are willful plants that claw their way to the surface, strong and thick and vibrant. The daffodils have struggled to the surface and one tiny soul has even bloomed -- a yellow star mashed into the mud by the dog and or the torrential rains. The tulips look a a little lost, lots of soft green cup shaped leaves but scattered and lonely, their friends and companions eaten throughout the winter by skunks or raccoons. They are the survivors of the bucketfuls I planted and they seem to wonder where their friends are.
The biggest success is the hyacinths. I tried to cover a part of a hill side with them one year and although they came up faithfully I'm afraid I would have needed about ten thousand bulbs to do what I had envisioned for the area, so I transplanted them in the fall. They are coming up along the top of a retaining wall and look like promising flirty ballerinas ready to take the stage.
There are twigs all over the garden. Trees that have been mutilated by the deer. Weeds are also finding their footing on the sprawl of the yard. There is much work to be done but the plants know. Winter is winding its way downhill. Spring is scaling the hillside and holding on for all it is worth. It gives one pause and a reason to smile as the rain pelts down and the dog looks to me for his walk.
As I opened the door this morning to let the cats out I checked the temperature. Sixty degrees. How can it seem so cold and yet be so warm? It is the sound of the rain pattering on the remainder of the leaves in the back yard. I lookout at pools of water in the depressions of my yard and see the raindrops forming rings. The cat looks up at me as if to say you can turn off the water now. Really, I would if I could. I love to see the sunshine in the morning. It can rain in the afternoon if it wants, but sunshine in the morning sets the day up right.
There are so many different sounds in the yard now, I don't recognize who's singing what but I do know that the caws of the crows and the honks from the geese have been joined by a chorus of other birds that are glad to be home in my backyard. They whistle and tweet and I do my best to imitate their sounds. They thrill me by answering my pitiful attempts at replication and we play for a while as I try to locate the source of my echoes.
The squirrels have been playing and bickering in the trees. I am sure they are somewhat dismayed to find that some of their bridges from one tree to the next have been taken down. Beautiful ash trees that had many years before them had it not been for the emerald ash borer and their wraith of destruction. The squirrels seem a little disgruntled and it makes me sad as well.
But the most distinctive thing in the yard to date is the little green teeth that are biting their way to the surface of the black mulch. Iris have very pointy leaves and they look fierce against the foundation of the house. They will not be denied the sunshine any longer. They are willful plants that claw their way to the surface, strong and thick and vibrant. The daffodils have struggled to the surface and one tiny soul has even bloomed -- a yellow star mashed into the mud by the dog and or the torrential rains. The tulips look a a little lost, lots of soft green cup shaped leaves but scattered and lonely, their friends and companions eaten throughout the winter by skunks or raccoons. They are the survivors of the bucketfuls I planted and they seem to wonder where their friends are.
The biggest success is the hyacinths. I tried to cover a part of a hill side with them one year and although they came up faithfully I'm afraid I would have needed about ten thousand bulbs to do what I had envisioned for the area, so I transplanted them in the fall. They are coming up along the top of a retaining wall and look like promising flirty ballerinas ready to take the stage.
There are twigs all over the garden. Trees that have been mutilated by the deer. Weeds are also finding their footing on the sprawl of the yard. There is much work to be done but the plants know. Winter is winding its way downhill. Spring is scaling the hillside and holding on for all it is worth. It gives one pause and a reason to smile as the rain pelts down and the dog looks to me for his walk.
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