My fears for our incredibly mild winter (knock on skull) seem to have been unwarranted. (I say this writing now, barely into March, when winter could come and hit us at any time, and all evidence could be buried.) These are photos of my garden from January 28th – evidence of Springtime only one week after our mini-ice storm. (Yes, yes, I’m getting behind.) Following so closely on the heals of our mini-ice storm, my garden seems to be happily chugging along on its annual schedule, only perhaps a few weeks early.
Since apparently we are not going to have a winter this year, and my entire yard is convinced that we are part way through March and headed into April, I thought it was about time I got back to my gardening posts. I’m a little unclear on where this will all end up, and I confess I’m more concerned than excited by the fact that we appear to be headed for spring two months early.
The lowest temperature we’ve gotten so far this year in the “city” was 14 degrees, which was a shock, but is no where near as cold as it is supposed to get around here in the wintertime. But it hasn’t just been warm. The weather this winter has been verging on schizophrenic, or at least bipolar. Let me recap the weather since New Year’s for you: (more…)
Here’s a few pictures of all the bulbs I ordered this year. There are lots of them. Lots and lots and lots. I’m very excited.
This is all of them:
Daffodils are one of the loves of my life. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated and enthralled with them. Growing up in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere, we had daffodils growing along our 1/2 mile driveway – in nearly full deciduous shade, producing about one flower per clump, and fighting for their survival, but growing. I used to visit them, and pretend they were my very own meadow.
Later, my parents took me to a party at a house with fields and fields of daffodils. They were everywhere, nodding yellow faces, clump after clump of tranquil narcissus. If I recall correctly (which most likely I don’t, but allow me to embellish regardless), I spent the entire event in the field, lying with the flowers. I was probably around seven, and I doubt I was even visible above the flower stalks. I have an image of myself lying surrounded by my own personal sunshine, staring at the sky and wondering why I ever had to leave.
My garden is blooming and no amount of confused weather can convince me that Spring isn’t here. Lately I check on my babies twice a day – I try to sneak out in the morning between tea and breakfast, just to make sure I don’t miss anybody. I can’t wait for Daylight Savings Time to bring me an extra hour to explore in the evenings.
As most people who know me know, I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with my garden. I’m infatuated, enraptured, verging on obsessed. Around this time of year, my standing rule reapplies: I’m unavailable if it’s nice weather – if you need me, you can find me up to my elbows in dirt somewhere in my yard.
This coming Tuesday, March 1st, marks one full year of home and garden ownership. It also marks a full circle of garden photos. As things have begun emerging from the cold ground around my house, I’ve been comparing to the pictures I took last year of these same plants, and remembering blissfully how green and wild and brilliant my playground is about to become.