A memory of spring, and a time to rejoice for just being here
With all the soaking and flooding rains we have received over the last month
(with exception of 5 days out of February, we had inches and inches in Eastern Tennessee) and the bitter colds, the clay soils around here are literally bursting with life. Now add in some warm days of mild temperatures, averaging around mid 40s to upper 50's feeling absolutely comfortable, blend with some thick, skin soaking fogs and fleeting sunshine, and what we got this week was a memory of spring. Regardless that I live in Eastern Tennessee, what I consider as my signs of spring are many fold. We've all been discussing it here on the newsgroups amongst the talks of wars and rumors of wars, returning of robins (or other seasonal birds common to your particular location) and more female cardinals, and even spotting blue cranes at one of the cow ponds the other day as I took a side road to work. My spring indications are many. Reading my scrawly writing in my ten year journal which has shown signs of neglect these last two years (I vowed to do better by investing in a new journal for when the first one is thru, which will be next year, I mean, are gardeners optomistic or what? g) I saw that my worries that the first lilting sounds of the peepers wasn't as early and too soon as I thought. They struck up a chorus that lifted my heart. Zhan was even able to hear their songs of lust as they started tuning up for the females while she was here. But had she waited just a few more days to have come up for her first visit, she would have been deafened by their throngs of lusty song. It gave me goose bumps today as I stood in the driveway and bright sunshine listening. Hell, how could I have NOT heard their chants and songs. They were drunk with it, all warmed up, singing love songs and "come hithers baby, cos I gonna make such be-o-u-t-iful tadpoles with youse........." My youngest son arrived down the driveway just as I was about to leave on errands, and I had to cease where I was going and slow down for him and have a mama and son moment. I do these, as I hope one day they can sit and reflect back to the days when they did this when they were younger and it will bring tearful smiles and memories back to them as my memories did to me with my beloved family who shared things with me, and even now the more recent past shared moments are precious to me. He was dressed in his knock 'em dead dress clothes. He'd gone to court and things were going very well, and he was in the county (he lives in another county, on the other side of Knoxville) he decided to honor me by a visit. Mama has become something special to him. It swells my heart with love and respect and appreciation. A hug enveloped me in his cologne, and I gave him a deep squeeze, and he said he'd noticed things were starting to pop up in the gardens. The fairies are deffinately awake and starting to nudge things out of the raised beds. Where Zhan saw green noses sticking out of the ground in bare resemblance to particular perennials, i.e. daylilies, irises, mounds of leaves (with exception to the silly oriental poppies that insist on being lush, GREEN, and a tuft of ferny leaves all tightly bound in the center waiting for the signals to really fill out and start making knobs of orange for me in late April or early May.) there are now identifiable shoots of so much it fills the eyes with greens. Damon and I walked back down the dog run sidewalk on the front of the house, and I started pointing out the obvious. He pointed at the yellow daffs, and saw the grape purple crocus standing alone near the little piece of cedar root stump I sat in the bed for character. He was almost appalled at the new sentients..........Zhan brought me gifts when she came up. A whole frelling flock o' flamingos...............but not yer ordinary flamingos. Oh no, she brought me great behemoth, steroid grown, oversized bright pink, necks curved down to the ground flamingos. And these aren't a foot or so off the ground. No. These are about four to five foot tall once you put them on the dowels and shove them into the soft soil flamingos. I am tempted to cluster them together in a flock, but for now, one is in the eastern end, one in the middle of the eastern bed towards the front near the sidewalk, and the other one stands alone on the western side in the bed guarding the little riot of crocuses that are all up in assorted colors and types. The first two she originally sent are pigmies in comparrison. I love them................We'll talk about the electric Christmas light and motion flamingo she found at another time........GBSEG (anyone want to see a picture of it, holler my way)lol. Once he got over the shock of the pink in the coastal birds, I started pointing out clumps of green shrouded buds and kept walking towards the western bed with the riot of crocuses in it. Along the way, he saw the patch of fallen sky, the tiny deep blue iris reticulata's at the edge of the far western end of the front beds. Dead stems of the single petaled kerria japonica begged me to trim her up, but I need to wait a bit more to ensure the biting colds are past before I trim the brown ends off. Too soon, and the cold will nip the tender green and kill off more stems. As he saw all the crocuses I spoke of, I realized the prize show had been totally passed by, and told him that I had to show him something more beautiful. He humored me as I told him about his Pa's experience. "Before he left Tuesday, and when Zennie was still here, I had come inside from the chill of outside Monday, and told him I really wanted to show him something. He's used to me doing this, and got up from his recliner, and followed me outside. By now, he's used to this dragging about and followed me around the front portion of the Not So Secret Gardens on the east end of the house here." I led son thru the narrow opening between the Harlequin Glory Bower and teeny leafing St. John's Wort bush that perches at the corner edge of the retaining wall, and past the just leafing Salix over to the cedar tree trunk that is the edge of the flower bed along the small deck that rises above four foot up. There against the back edge where the ground keeps going up underneath the "deck" is a magnificent clump of Hellebore's. These are the white ones with the burgandy speckled throats. Tucked against the concrete that they had poured for a base for the wooden partial deck, with all the rotted leaves and rich worm soils, and in their own micro climate of indirect eastern sun (the black cherry even naked of leaves blocks total contact with the eastern morning sun) and strong indirect southern sun, the clump is most impressive. Even before you lift a blossom and look into her cupped face, you can see their beauty. There they were, over 25 blossoms, rising gracefully like ladies in skirts with layers of slips under them lifting them. I'd not know what to do if I had doubles of these girls. I knelt on the trunk, and carefully lifted up one of the many open bells and showed her face to him. "Isn't she wonderous? Check this one out over here, son.." and I lifted up the next face in the clump three foot over towards the northen portion of the bed. "These are the same, but different colored, see how the shoulders are soft blush? And the centers, (as I lifted up a much larger bell) are soft green. But check THIS one out......Pa didn't even see these buds, but when he looked at the first ones, he remarked to me " "Hon, are these things Hellebores? Only YOU would have me know a name of these things.....geeze yer amazing sometimes"" and I carefully lifted up a still not completely opened up HUGE pure white drop, and showed him that the face would be a soft creamy lime green when it did mature in a few days. Then I stood up and pointed across the driveway to the bed that edged the concrete literally and to the very obvious clump of darker plum buds on the other hellebore plants, and we walked over to that bed and he saw that there were all sorts of shoots up in the dark top soil I had built up around the black cherry's roots. I pointed to the whiskey barrel I'd filled with soil, to the red-purple-green tufts of leaves coming up and told him "those are Virginia bluebells, way way too soon" and I could see he remembered when this barrel was the back seat of his dad's Harley Davidson trike that he and his pa had wrenched on when he was a little guy. I have a picture of him "driving" it with his dad sitting in the whiskey barrel back seat over the two rear wheels and it's a picture that invokes smiles and memories. Now I've still got the barrel, the bike has long been gone from our home, but hopefully is being ridden by the man who bought it, and I still have a part of the memory and planted with returning spring flowers. Tucked here and there are heart shaped leaves of clyclamen that didn't bloom for me or I missed them, but they assure me in these little hearts that they're still in there, I'll look for them later near fall again. The whole time, you were almost drowned out by the chorus of peepers in the surrounding lands and hills. The ridge literally vibrated with the sound it was so loud. The smells in the sunlight was warmed and moist soil. Rich, almost overwhelming, but sweet. When son and I left and I returned later alone with Rose, I had with me a salve for my happiness. A sign to myself that I had something more than just another spring's teasing to comfort me. Earlier I had finally gotten some much needed good news mingled in with bad news, stressed events and more good things. It was almost balanced out. It was a roller coaster wild ride. I had gone to pick up Squires small pittance for his short time at work last week since he was in Arizona, and I had gone to pick up my first paycheck at Lowes. It was a surprise. I was expecting less. Once I got over the joy of seeing that first paycheck, I went out to the car, pulled around to the nursery, and hooked Rose up to her leash and let her meet two of the people I work with. Rose was estatic. She's never been allowed to do this before. She was a perfect lady. No barking, and when I asked her to please sit, she did, immediately, thumping her tail in total abandon and pure dawg joy. This dawg was grinning in the unmistakable smile that only happy dawgs display. Mama was letting her do something wonderful and there were all sorts of people with smiles and smells and she was almost floating she was so happy. She met the vendor who cares for the plants on the racks from the nurseries for Lowes, and her name happens to be Rose too. They bonded instantly. And she met one of the regular ladies who has known me now for 6 years, and welcomed her as if she's known Susan her whole life. As I walked her back to the car, I had made my decision. I called Squire on the cell phone and made sure I was in the clear with him. I wanted to celebrate the good news that the IRS had accepted our offer in compromise today and in a few weeks or so, our life hopefully will get back to normal, such as it is. Or at least partially. What IS normal, right? GBSEG I wanted to get a tree. Now bear in mind, I have decided that I will not buy any trees until the woods below the house at the end of the slope is cleaned up, eliminated of 98% of the poison ivy, all of the privet, all but one or two of the largest cedar trees and even those limbed up, all but the biggest pin oaks removed and cut down, and any fallen trunks repositioned so that I can begin planting understory blooming trees under the jack pines. And blooming bushes under and against them, and neat things around the neat rocks and boulders. But I've been here now nearly 8 years, and despite that there is an 8 year old Cornelian cherry (twig leaf dogwood) out front, and a Harlequin Glory bower just a few feet from it, and a fig in the western yard, I haven't bought any trees. And I have a mental list of what I want down in my woods. I want Silver bells, redbuds, white, pink, red and Kousa dogwoods. I want sourwoods, a red buckeye, some deciduous magnolia's, one southern Magnolia at the eastern end of these woods to grow into an unpruned tree that will hopefully grow to stretch it's limbs to the ground and make secret rooms for children and other gardeners to walk under and sit. I want to plant some tall spruces here and there, and with luck, some of Miz Mary's pink hairy locust trees, or Acacia's. In the corner somewhere, I want a couple of Asian apple pear trees, some good solid flame maples to anchor the property corners, and any small understory blooming tree I happen to come across that will thrive in my woods without me. As well as one Harry Lauder's walking stick, or twisted filbert perched over the boulder on the east edge of the woods. Squire gave me the go ahead. I circled back to Lowes, and with a grin on my face, and Rose standing guard in the front seat of the car (the truck was parked somewhere else inaccessable, this was going to call upon my abilities to haul large things in a car up again like old times) I sailed past Susan at the check out counter at the nursery gate, and went back to the trees. And the pink dogwoods, and started counting buds on them. Two were a toss up, but after looking at the shape of them, I decided on the one with 39 buds on it, to ensure it bloomed (the red dogwood hadn't one bud on the ends of the stems, and I already have a sport dogwood that Mary Emma had me dig up 8 years ago and it's still not bloomed or showed me what color it will be when it does) and picked it up by it's trunk and carried it to be purchased. Susan was amused. I got my discount, and took the tree to the car parked by the front entrance on the end away from the people by the railroad ties, and thought about how I was going to carry a five foot seven inch tall pink dogwood tree in a 15 gallon pot home without losing one bud an not put it in the truck. I rolled down the passenger window, asked Rose to get into the back seat, which she did, and slipped it thru, and onto the front seat, and it rode home in the wind like a hound going for a ride who loves the wind in it's face. Rose likes to taste the wind, but after awhile, she curls up and enjoys the ride. She had to take the back seat to the tree getting her spot but she didn't seem to mind considering she's been home alone, all she needed was to just be with me and riding. At home, I have a huge concrete pot that son gifted his mama with two years ago that weighs a ton (it feels like it weighs a ton) sitting on the bricks beside the driveway in front of the east end bed. I had planted two tiny seedlings of red maples in it, but the Japanese beetles had eaten the leaves off the stems and when the leaves resprouted, they returned to eat them off again, and I thought then that I should have given up trying to grow these trees. The pot was perfect. As slowly as dogwoods grow, all I had to do was remove the young red maple trees, and put them in a nursery pot for now until I find a spot to let them grow and thrive or be eaten to bones. I would have to use my dad's hand dolly to move the pot, but once I removed the chickweed that covered the top of the rootball, and planted the tree, I loaded the whole thing up onto the old dolly and slowly and carefully rolled it over underneath the black cherry tree. Dogwoods are understory trees, and I didn't want to leave it exposed to strong southern and western sunlight. Tucked against the layered bricks of the raised bed around the black cherry, the stark whiteness of the cement pot is a bit obvious, but given some buttermilk and moss I paint on the outsides of the pot later, it will look just fine until I can permanently plant it into the woods when it gets all cleared out to my satisfaction. Until then, I have my first dogwood. I can't wait. Maybe I should plant some spring bulbs in the soil around the dogwood and when the day comes to permanently slip it into the ridge, it will have a little family of spring bulbs and such to keep it company and establish into it's own colony. Bloodroot, trilliums, maybe some snowdrops and muscari. Or glory of the snow. Something that will pop up and bloom with the pink blossoms floating above in the blue sky. The weigh of the pot and soil and tree and pulling it to the tree and then positioning it was enough to do me in. I figure the wet pot, soil, tree and such was a good 200 pounds or more. As I stood there, smelling the damp earth, and looked at the black soil on my hands, I knew, despite that I feel in my heart that Mom's Nature isn't thru with her teasings of colds and possibly a snow or frost, that my personal memory of spring is relived. This one will be my 50th spring. If you listen carefully amidst the raucous songs of the bluejays, crows, ravens, the twitters of the finches, chickadees, the melodious songs of the robins, cardinals, bluebirds, mockingbirds, the tapping and odd sounds of the woodpeckers, the higher sounds of the red hawks, the owl down in my neighbors fallow acres eastward, thru the blasting of the peepers, you can hear the sighs of the trees as they start to waken and stretch their limbs, reaching into the moist, soft water logged soils and start pumping their sap upwards, in anticipation of leaves and birds nests, the tickles of squirrels feet and summer sun. Before I went inside to wash my hands (I'd rinsed them in rain water in containers siting outside) I started checking under brown stems I leave all winter, and everywhere I looked, little clusters of leaves were sitting patiently waiting for spring to arrive so they could push past the old dead growth and start again. Knuckles of sedums have started flattening out, but first cold snap, they will draw in again, underneath pink/tan stems that easily snap off in your fingers. The Frakartii asters can be snapped halfway now and not disturb the roots. (I still don't know how they return every year by seed or root, is still a mystery to me). Everywhere the soil is punctuated by shoots of bulbs, and now the pots of daylilies I divided for Mary Emma and myself are showing signs of life where there were once seemingly empty pots of soil. Even ferns are fiddling upwards at the ends of their dead toes in some places. and that damn vinca needs to be pulled out once and for all.................. Thanks for allowing me to ramble on, there is more, but I am starting to go crosseyed myself, and I will carry onwards with this thought tomorrow. The pink dogwood is tucked into the huge pot underneath the black cherry tree, and if I'm lucky, they will bloom the same time or nearly the same, and the shade of the boughs of the cherry tree will provide just enough dappled shade for the dogwood later on to nurture it. And I can see it from my nook window if I peek around the side G Tomorrow I sow poppy seeds along the fence row! madgardener up on the ridge, back in a bursting fairy holler, overlooking English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee zone 6b, Sunset zone 36 |
A memory of spring, and a time to rejoice for just being here
"madgard" wrote in message . .. This one will be my 50th spring. If you listen carefully amidst the raucous songs of the bluejays, crows, ravens, the twitters of the finches, chickadees, the melodious songs of the robins, cardinals, bluebirds, mockingbirds, the tapping and odd sounds of the woodpeckers, the higher sounds of the red hawks, the owl down in my neighbors fallow acres eastward, thru the blasting of the peepers, you can hear the sighs of the trees as they start to waken and stretch their limbs, reaching into the moist, soft water logged soils and start pumping their sap upwards, in anticipation of leaves and birds nests, the tickles of squirrels feet and summer sun. madgardener up on the ridge, back in a bursting fairy holler, overlooking English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee zone 6b, Sunset zone 36 Your gardens couldn't be more beautiful than your joyful words about them! Thank you! Do you have a website or any pictures? Bobbie Washington state |
A memory of spring, and a time to rejoice for just being here
no website, but I take pictures all the time with my digital. if you want me
to send a few JPEG's on occaison, I will be most happy to put faces on my flowers. e-mail me and let me know (I took pictures of the crocuses and of the incredible Hellebore's G thanks for the kind words, Roberta. madgardener "Roberta L. Mueller" wrote in message ... "madgard" wrote in message . .. This one will be my 50th spring. If you listen carefully amidst the raucous songs of the bluejays, crows, ravens, the twitters of the finches, chickadees, the melodious songs of the robins, cardinals, bluebirds, mockingbirds, the tapping and odd sounds of the woodpeckers, the higher sounds of the red hawks, the owl down in my neighbors fallow acres eastward, thru the blasting of the peepers, you can hear the sighs of the trees as they start to waken and stretch their limbs, reaching into the moist, soft water logged soils and start pumping their sap upwards, in anticipation of leaves and birds nests, the tickles of squirrels feet and summer sun. madgardener up on the ridge, back in a bursting fairy holler, overlooking English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee zone 6b, Sunset zone 36 Your gardens couldn't be more beautiful than your joyful words about them! Thank you! Do you have a website or any pictures? Bobbie Washington state |
All times are GMT +1. The time now is 02:41 AM. |
Powered by vBulletin® Copyright ©2000 - 2024, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
GardenBanter