The Garden!
Cry the beloved garden
Well, I didn't, not at all. I knew very well it was still there, all the beds and borders, the trees and shrubs, the perennials, the vines, all there under the winter blanket of snow, awaiting spring. Yes, spring arrived by the calendar as it is wont to do, since there are some truths in life that never disappoint and nature is by her very nature regular in her habit.
When we came down to breakfast this morning the thermometer read well below freezing. But the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone brightly through our windows. Our little dogs settled themselves at the front of the house where the morning sun shines its early warmth through the dining room windows and the day began its slow progress toward spring warmth.
It is at this time of year that we are beguiled by possibilities, by the eventuality of the promise of rebirth, the glory of spring. The air is different; warmer, promising, redolent of awakening life. When we first open the sliding glass doors onto the deck to let our little dogs out in the morning we hear robins, cardinals, even red-wing blackbirds now, thrilling to their own beckoning opportunities.
Mid-morning I interrupted my laundry chores and ventured out of doors in shirt sleeves. I can do that at this time of year when the temperature reaches up to the single-digit plus, and today it was 2 degrees when I let myself into the backyard. I've been neglecting it; from spending hours daily throughout the spring, summer and fall, to little-to-no-time at all during the long dark days of winter.
We've still got snow and ice, but it is fast receding. There's perhaps one-third of the accumulation left to melt under warmer temperatures and the growing heat of the sun. I walked about the backyard for a few moments, then began looking at the newly-revealed gardens and could hardly credit my eyes. For there, creeping boldly out of the still-frozen garden soil were tulips, lilies, hyacinths, irises, sending their fresh green [and red] tips upward.
Amazing, wonderful, hardly credible, but there was all the evidence I needed that winter is evaporating slowly and surely. There! leafbuds fattening on the Corkscrew hazel! In the rock garden the french strawberry plant is reaching out its fresh, bright leaves, the lime-rickey heuchera is ablaze, the bleeding heart beginning its ascent into early flower. Good grief, the chives have started, the Canterbury bells as well.
The eonymous shrubs, the Monarda, the honeysuckle vine, they're all beginning their spring journey to summer. I try to peek under a few rose cones, but they're still fast frozen to the ground; I'll try in a few days' time again. But I retrieve a pair of gardening scissors from the shed and snip a bit here and there and uncover the globe cedars, the columnar cedars and fold the burlap away.
The ornamental weeping willow is sending out buds and I can see its soft grey pussies unfurling; even the weeping mulberry has some early buds. The honeysuckle vine growing up the arbour has sent out some early green shoots along its length. Is this to be believed? There's a sweet fragrance in the air and it envelopes me as I look about, wondering where it emanates from. I stoop to crumble a bit of dry lavender, and it's not that. I uncover the Japanese cut-leaf maple and it looks just fine.
I wander along the path, through the gate, toward the front gardens. Far more snow still left on the ground than in the back; it's nowhere near as protected. Still, large grey flower buds on the Magnolia offer promise of a splendid floral display, as do the rhododendrons and the azalea, carefully removed from their covering, the white blankets pulled open to expose the large evergreen leaves.
The yucca looks in fine form, as does the Japanese spurge. Coral bells look as fresh and beautiful as they did when the snow first fell, blanketing and readying them for their winter hiatus. No tulips or narcissus yet starting to emerge in the front, though the grape hyacinths are, along with miniature irises - quick and early to bloom in spring.
I feel anticipatory now, warmly expectant. Our gardens never disappoint, always thrill us with their determined seasonal thrusts and wonderful displays. Bring it on!
Well, I didn't, not at all. I knew very well it was still there, all the beds and borders, the trees and shrubs, the perennials, the vines, all there under the winter blanket of snow, awaiting spring. Yes, spring arrived by the calendar as it is wont to do, since there are some truths in life that never disappoint and nature is by her very nature regular in her habit.
When we came down to breakfast this morning the thermometer read well below freezing. But the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone brightly through our windows. Our little dogs settled themselves at the front of the house where the morning sun shines its early warmth through the dining room windows and the day began its slow progress toward spring warmth.
It is at this time of year that we are beguiled by possibilities, by the eventuality of the promise of rebirth, the glory of spring. The air is different; warmer, promising, redolent of awakening life. When we first open the sliding glass doors onto the deck to let our little dogs out in the morning we hear robins, cardinals, even red-wing blackbirds now, thrilling to their own beckoning opportunities.
Mid-morning I interrupted my laundry chores and ventured out of doors in shirt sleeves. I can do that at this time of year when the temperature reaches up to the single-digit plus, and today it was 2 degrees when I let myself into the backyard. I've been neglecting it; from spending hours daily throughout the spring, summer and fall, to little-to-no-time at all during the long dark days of winter.
We've still got snow and ice, but it is fast receding. There's perhaps one-third of the accumulation left to melt under warmer temperatures and the growing heat of the sun. I walked about the backyard for a few moments, then began looking at the newly-revealed gardens and could hardly credit my eyes. For there, creeping boldly out of the still-frozen garden soil were tulips, lilies, hyacinths, irises, sending their fresh green [and red] tips upward.
Amazing, wonderful, hardly credible, but there was all the evidence I needed that winter is evaporating slowly and surely. There! leafbuds fattening on the Corkscrew hazel! In the rock garden the french strawberry plant is reaching out its fresh, bright leaves, the lime-rickey heuchera is ablaze, the bleeding heart beginning its ascent into early flower. Good grief, the chives have started, the Canterbury bells as well.
The eonymous shrubs, the Monarda, the honeysuckle vine, they're all beginning their spring journey to summer. I try to peek under a few rose cones, but they're still fast frozen to the ground; I'll try in a few days' time again. But I retrieve a pair of gardening scissors from the shed and snip a bit here and there and uncover the globe cedars, the columnar cedars and fold the burlap away.
The ornamental weeping willow is sending out buds and I can see its soft grey pussies unfurling; even the weeping mulberry has some early buds. The honeysuckle vine growing up the arbour has sent out some early green shoots along its length. Is this to be believed? There's a sweet fragrance in the air and it envelopes me as I look about, wondering where it emanates from. I stoop to crumble a bit of dry lavender, and it's not that. I uncover the Japanese cut-leaf maple and it looks just fine.
I wander along the path, through the gate, toward the front gardens. Far more snow still left on the ground than in the back; it's nowhere near as protected. Still, large grey flower buds on the Magnolia offer promise of a splendid floral display, as do the rhododendrons and the azalea, carefully removed from their covering, the white blankets pulled open to expose the large evergreen leaves.
The yucca looks in fine form, as does the Japanese spurge. Coral bells look as fresh and beautiful as they did when the snow first fell, blanketing and readying them for their winter hiatus. No tulips or narcissus yet starting to emerge in the front, though the grape hyacinths are, along with miniature irises - quick and early to bloom in spring.
I feel anticipatory now, warmly expectant. Our gardens never disappoint, always thrill us with their determined seasonal thrusts and wonderful displays. Bring it on!
Labels: Gardening
posted by Pieface @ 1:08 PM
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