Spring Things

Day 160: Three days ago, there was no colour in the garden. It usually comes on gradually, first grape hyacinths, then narcissi, then the double daffodils. Not this year! Admittedly, only a few of each have opened, but the sudden eruption of spring things has already brightened the yard considerably. With 75-degree days this last week, it's nor surprising, although the possibility of a few snowflakes looms toward the end of the week. And that's spring in the Pacific Northwest, springing back and forth between summer and winter for the next six weeks or so until equilibrium is achieved. The signs are clear: get out the gloves, the hoe, the seed-starting trays. Check the garden store for your favourite tomatoes and bedding plants. It's time to get growing!

Spring Bouquet

Day 167: For someone with quite a bit of shelf space devoted to vase storage, I seldom cut flowers to bring in the house. There are some regular exceptions to that rule: a single sprig of pussywillows to acknowledge the changing of the seasons, and one or two cuttings of daffodils, which I have in abundance. Flowers last so much longer when they're alive, and if I want to see them, I have only to step outside for a dose of colour or, if it's raining, look out over their heads from my windows. Spring has indeed arrived in my garden, and almost daily, something new is opening up. The lilac is in bud, the heather is in bloom, the Red-flowering currant's pink tips are swelling and almost ready to burst into panicles of Nature's own miniature hummingbird feeders. Grape hyacinths dot the flower beds, always popping up in unexpected locations, and in the shade beneath Big Doug, the incongruously-named native yellow violets show like tiny sparks of sunlight. Meanwhile, my calendar reminds me that it is time to sow gazanias indoors if I am to enjoy their blooms in August, and a rank of other seed packets stands behind them, awaiting their respective turns. Winter, I say with great joy, is done.

Easter Flowers

Day 173: Easter is not a day I celebrate, unless it's to use it as an excuse to make a couple of devilled eggs for lunch. On the other hand, my garden is breaking out its spring wardrobe. The first narcissi opened yesterday, preceded by a few double daffodils by less than 48 hours. The grape hyacinths sneaked in and surprised me, standing beside furled peony foliage. In even better news, the honeybees and bumbles have joined a parade to the blossoms, and a handful of butterflies (largely Commas) are fluttering their standards at the head of the march. Indoors, I'm setting seeds in flats, already rewarded with the eruption of poppies and tomatoes, both now at the point of putting on their first true leaves. I may not celebrate Easter, but I do celebrate planting season with great enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I have no mustard in the house, so my hard-boiled eggs will have to be eaten plain.

Symbolism

Day 99: I am too emotionally exhausted from the stresses of the last year or, to be more precise, the last four to be able to put into words what I am feeling today. I will let this simple photo speak for me, its promise of a brighter, better future apparent in the fresh, hopeful shoots of daffodils, stalwartly undeterred by poor soil and the rocks and bits of broken glass which invariably rise to the surface on the heels of each dark winter. Yet on a personal note, I feel the need to remain a bulb for a while longer before poking my head through the ground, time to husband my reserves, to recover from the expenditure of energies demanded by the struggle to stay alive. Perhaps I'll find the strength to bloom come summer.

Bloomin' Springtime

Day 182: Although Easter is not a holiday with any personal relevance, it brings with it a definite feeling of renewal in that it occurs at a time when spring bulbs are putting on their annual gala. My flower beds are not at peak daffodil time yet, but there are enough to delight any Easter bunny who happened to be looking for a place to hide his eggs. When I was a youngster, there was always a red one nestled in a cup of tulip leaves or a purple one tucked into place among the minarets of grape hyacinth. Daffodils nearly always concealed those dyed green or blue, camouflaged by the play of light and shadow filtering through the strappy foliage. It might be that the Easter bunny gave me early lessons in observation, for rather than putting eggs where I was sure to find them, he concealed them with great skill. Of course I was cautioned not to trample the flowers in their beds, so I would sit at the edge, studying the plants until a wink of improper colour caught my eye. Later, I learned that this way of observing at the environment is described as not 'looking for something,' but 'looking for something which shouldn't be there.' It is a system which has served me well. That said, I never saw the Easter bunny at his work, but one year I caught his minion in the act of hiding an egg in the bookcase headboard of my bed. Easter was never quite the same after that.

Spring Trio

Day 164: Ah, the colour is starting to appear in my yard! The morning flower beds are full of daffodils still in bud, but where the noonday sun falls out front, a handful of yellow trumpets are nodding in the rain. A handful of crocuses have survived the years of deer and raccoon predation, although I might have to amend that claim after Bambi's late-night visit. The grape hyacinths took me by surprise. I had not noticed them budding while I pulled an inexcusably thick layer of chickweed nearby, too intent on my task, I suppose, to be distracted by their little pointy hats. Is it any wonder that we think of traditional Easter colours as yellow and purple? Winter is losing its grip and my gardens are rejoicing.

Springing In The Rain

Day 182: The garden is convinced it's spring, but I have some reservations. As I look out the window toward the Mountain (toward where the Mountain ought to be, anyway), I am seeing fresh snow on trees a mere thousand feet above. There is a decided nip in the air, one which keeps me from any thoughts of smoothing out the soil in the Currant Extension so that I can lay landscape fabric (weed barrier) and mulch. The spirit is willing, anxious in fact, but for all the good wishing will do, the rakes and shovels will just have to stay in the garage for another few days. The "dream books" are dangerous; I've ordered a dwarf mulberry, figuring that small harvests of gooseberries, mulberries and currants can all go in the same jam kettle for the first few years until the bushes bear enough to make individual batches. Nasty weather notwithstanding, the blueberries, kiwis and raspberries are starting to leaf out. Two tomato plants (Oregon Spring and Sungold) will be playing in-again-out-again-Finnegan from porch to kitchen until I'm sure Jack Frost is gone for good.

Spring Is Bustin' Out All Over

Day 172: Spring is bustin' out all over! The daffodils were still only in bud during the morning two days ago, but by afternoon, they'd thrown their jackets off and were welcoming mild temperatures with open petals. Grape hyacinths popped up a few days earlier, and I'm ashamed to admit that I hadn't noticed them until they started showing purple. The Hellebore recovered from being crushed beneath the yard glacier and surged quickly to the fore with a thick flush of flowers. And Spring urges are driving me to get my hands dirty. I'd pilfered a few flowering quince stems from a vacant lot last year and, after having been confined to buried pots for a year, they were ready to plant out. The raspberries are making leaves, the blueberries and kiwis likewise promising a harvest to tide me through next winter. Hurrah for Spring!

Itchin' To Be Diggin'

Day 164: My patience with rain and cold is nearly exhausted. I'm itchin' to be diggin'! Or if not digging, at least pulling some of the weeds and scratching out the moss, preparatory to putting annuals in the ground. I must remind myself that it's still March, a good two months to go before a killing frost is unlikely. Even so, I've had it happen in mid-June, although not in the last decade or so. The garden stores down in Flatland are pushing out their displays, oblivious to the fact that some of us live in Zone 7, a narrow strip of cold country which runs along the spine of the Cascades and spills over where one particular Big Ice Cream Cone dominates the horizon. I wish my psychology permitted  me to channel some of the gardening urge into a bout of spring cleaning, but somehow getting down and dirty has a much greater appeal than mopping floors and polishing doorknobs. Nah, I'll just sit here with the seed catalog on my lap and dream.

Garden Colour

Day 163: One of these things is not like the others, much to my dismay, and it heralds the approach of lawn-mowing season, something I tend to forget about over the winter months. It always takes me by surprise. Some morning, I'll look out the window and the grass (that coarse, sharp-bladed species which as kids, we stretched between our thumbs to make a whistle) will have sprung up to half the height of the bird-feeder poles. I don't have "lawn." I have a few blades of thin green stuff sticking up through moss, hawkweed, and assorted other unpleasantness. The sharp stuff grows in clumps where the poor soil contains any small amount of organic matter. It is astonishingly resistant to treatment, even (gods forbid!) Round-up. Naturalist that I am, when lawn-mowing season begins, there are two alternatives which spring to mind: a flame-thrower, or perhaps two or three acre-inches of green asphalt. What idiot decided houses should be surrounded by lawn?

Your December WTF Moment

Day 52: Yes, those are daffodils. In December. If ever there was a "WTF moment," it was yesterday when I noticed them in my garden, and therefore I uttered that precise and vulgar phrase spontaneously. As to why they might be so far ahead of schedule is impossible to speculate. It's not overly warm, and certainly the amount of daylight they've been receiving is only marginally more or less than that in any other December. Yet there they are, happy little heads poking through the ground in anticipation of spring. Kids, you're gonna beat the pussywillows this year, and that just ain't right!

Easter Blooms

Day 185: The colour in my garden is patchy, but there's no denying that Spring has arrived. My earliest memories of Easter involved searching for eggs in my parents' garden, and I think it's fair to say that I was more entranced by the flowers than by the treats the famous Bunny had left beneath them. Invariably during my hunt, a few stems of Grape Hyacinth would be broken, and of course these were gathered up to be accompanied by a few deliberately-picked daffodils and the obligatory do-you-like-butter dandelions. Lilacs came later, in time for May Day, followed by the blood-red peonies which my father so dearly loved. Sometimes there were sweet peas, a plant I have never successfully grown here at the foot of the Mountain. Today, my complement includes daffodils and narcissi (we won't quibble over semantics), Fritillaria meleagris, grape hyacinth, pigsqueak (Bergenia), heather, a Patty Plant, wild currant, abundant hellebore and snowflakes. If the Bunny were to bring me eggs today, he'd have no trouble matching them to a hiding place, whatever colour they might be.

Undeniable Evidence

Day 137: If this scene fails to inspire you to break out the seed catalogs, you're beyond all hope of redemption. Snow or no, the daffodils are solid evidence that Spring is on the way, and every year, their white-petalled, orange-cupped blossoms bring up a discussion of the differences between daffodils, narcissi and jonquils. Okay, let's lay the facts on the table.

To start with, all three terms fall under the scientific name of Narcissus. Colloquially (and therefore not strictly speaking "correctly"), "daffodil" refers to the larger-flowered varieties with long trumpets. Likewise, "narcissus" covers small-flowered species with short trumpets or cups. "Jonquil" refers to those plants which bear more than one flower per stem (again, colloquially). "So what about miniatures? And the ones with half-length trumpets?" you ask. "Narcissi," I reply, because I always default to the scientific name if there's any doubt when someone is asking me for an "official" determination. I'm not fond of common names. They are often shared among completely unrelated species, and can exhibit quite a variety of regional permutations (i.e., Texas "bluebonnets" are a lupine under a pseudonym). Still, no matter what you call them, they announce the arrival of Spring in full voice, a glad invocation against winter's thrall.

So Very Wrong

Day 62: This is wrong on so many levels, I can't begin to count them. Yes, that is my dirt in my garden, and those are bloody flippin' daffodils poking their little heads up, and it's not even Christmas. I live in the Pacific Northwest, not southern California. This is a sight I should not see until February at the earliest. Winter hasn't even begun, and here is Spring, starting already. Ma Nature must have flipped an extra page on her calendar. If I thought I was busy chasing rare Orchidaceae and mycoheterotrophs in April and May of 2015, 2016 may be even more exciting.

Spring Colors

Day 153: Today has been stormy, wet and windy at the same time. It's the first truly nasty day we've had in March, the famed lion arriving well after a whole flock of soft little lambs. Needless to say, the change in weather put me off my pace mentally, and I found myself wanting something cheerful and bright, so in between downpours, I raced out to the garden and snipped a sampling of spring flowers from where they were nodding dangerously close to the mud. We all knew summer couldn't last forever, not in March!

Arranging For Spring

Day 181: What's more cheery than a bouquet of daffodils? I don't often cut flowers, because they last so much longer in the garden, but this nominal sacrifice won't be missed from the dozens ready to burst into bloom. Happy Springtime, people! Break out the potting soil and the Jiffy-7s, buy some seeds and start planting!

Spring In Evidence

Day 141: I believe! I'll trust a plant over a weather forecast any day, and my daffodils are telling me Spring is just around the corner. They sprout first under the protection of the contorted filbert and later in the more exposed flower beds, but both locations are showing the evidence of Mother Nature's gentling mood. The croci have not yet emerged, but the grasslike threads of grape hyacinth leaves are pushing through the ground as well. Even with yesterday's snow, the new green in the garden was obvious. Soon winter will be a memory, erased by bright yellow trumpets and the golden eyes of narcissi. Hurray! Spring is on the way!

Oh, Sweet Spring!

Day 182: I don't think I've ever had a year when the double daffodils didn't precede the singles by a week or more, followed by the narcissi in another week or ten days. What a surprise it was this morning to discover that everything has opened at once! Oh, that's not to infer that all of the buds have burst. No, there are plenty more to come, especially narcissi. Even the grape hyacinths joined the party! Happy Spring!