Dedicated to those who are experiencing loss

Spring in the garden is my favorite time of year. Year after year, I am profoundly inspired as these early plants push their way through snow, mud, and frozen ground. Somehow, they (almost) always manage to survive the setbacks typical of the season. This is such a powerful time of the year, yet simultaneously fragile. Today, after a hard frost, I gently touch the buds of my most vulnerable plants (star magnolia, tree peony) as if that loving caress will somehow aid in their recovery. Despite the wilted, damaged greenery on my honeysuckle, I know new growth will emerge, followed by flowers and hummingbirds. Still, I cannot help question why it sends out shoots of life so very early ? Perhaps, like me, it simply cannot contain its excitement, reminding me of the many plantings I have optimistically made earlier than advised. Despite these predicted setbacks of cold, ice, and/or snow, I am confident that the garden (and gardener) has already embarked on this year’s journey.

My life has a new found happiness unique to this season. Repeatedly I stroll the garden, discovering spring anew. Similar to the weeds in my garden, the expanding “to do” list is creeping into my thoughts. I gently remind myself to simply revel in the ephemerals of spring. Today, I was smitten by a new crocus I planted last fall, now a single bright yellow flower. I allow myself the “dream” of a spring several years hence: as a well established clump of flowers in my lawn, with patches of progeny in new places to discover. Even more glorious than I had hoped, a relatively young white star magnolia is indeed blossoming while the newly planted white crocuses flower beneath!!! While meandering, I wonder what stories, experiences, or life lessons my garden will reveal to me.

Woven thru this joy, I find myself reflecting on the personal losses that our world has experienced, and that our Nelson community has faced. How do we coexist with those feelings, when life is emerging all around us? Our Springs may feel colored by sadness, but perhaps made more special, as we move towards the light, warmth, and renewal that this season presents to us.

Trillium grandiflorum (perhaps my springtime favorite and another of Anne’s treasures) pushing through the trials and tribulations of springtime. More to come of this flower….

The First Crocus

This blue chionodoxa (glory of the snow) is another of Anne Robertson’s plants. Despite the small bulb size, it self seeds easily and seems to survive all manner of unintentional abuse… my trowel.

Scilla Siberica (Siberian Squill)

A pink azalea with its buds and flowers covered in wet heavy snow (having survived the frost)

Snowdrops and honey bees….
Try to imagine the sounds associated with this early bloomer. It is hardy enough to self seed in the grass. Every year I disperse its seed heads and divide the bulbs to encourage its spread.

Resilience: mouse over or click the snow-covered magnolia below to see what happened a few day later.

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