And Ode to Springtime

There is an exquisite symphony happening right now in the backyard. J’s grandmother was a gardening visionary. She left a legacy of floral artistry. Even though I never met her, she has made herself known in her garden. 

The music began in the wake of our strange Ice-Blanket. Just when the winter felt endlessly long and cold– the strong, quiet, notes of dignified camellias began. To me, camellias are a reminder to hope in the drear of dark days, like the warming of strings in the orchestra... reminding me that the days will soon lengthen and the concerto is about to begin...

I cannot get over these blooms!

Then, the slow emergence: gentle tunes of Japanese magnolia, the bride’s wreath, and fig leaves. My eyes tingled with anticipation. Finally, this Saturday, the choir! A crescendo of cherry blossoms, daffodils, dogwoods, azaleas and wisteria left me speechless.

The Yard

A show like this is humbling for the failed gardener in me. Every year, I have dreams of a bountiful harvest of tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, basil, peppers, and so much more. I imagine a lovely garden of magnificent flowers. But, I often find that I kill more than I coddle. A mint plant even died on my watch, which I hear is virtually impossible. I’ll keep trying though, channeling the gifts of my gardening ancestors.

Because that is what springtime is, I think. It is hope. It is chucking last year’s wilted failures and starting over with a few new seeds and seedlings. My second generation tomatoes will surely outshine the first. I just know it.

What are you planting this season?

PS - I debated about posting this, thinking that the writing is too flowery. Then that thought made me giggle.

PSS - Though tempted, I purposely avoided the words whimsy, ethereal, airy and epic and am further banning them from this blog. Double whammies if I inadvertently use them and thank you, social media for ruining some great adjectives.