It always seems to happen this way, I am poking about in the garden, happily puttering, breathing in the soothing scent of soil and new leaves and poof, just like that I go from feeling like I have all the time in the world to being slightly frazzled. Frazzled in a good way, but nonetheless, it means I have work to do.
Mostly this past weekend I was weeding and doing a little trimming here and there. I posted a photo of my first, and so far only, actual daffodil blossom on Instagram. These have been in the ground a while. More than once have I feared they had been accidentally displaced by workmen or overzealous grounds grew. Luckily not yet. I planted some other daffodils over the winter, too late actually and they are not yet sending up shoots. They arrived about the same time as Poncho and in my state of overwhelm I forgot them and left them out at room temperature far too long. I hope I will still get greenery, although I doubt there will be flowers; at least that way I know they will survive and build strength for next year. If not, I must admit to having made yet another miscalculation.
Mostly the garden remains strongest in the realms of potential rather than spring loveliness. The hellebores are fully open now and lush, although the side yard itself still looks a bit on the scraggly side, waiting for various woodland plants to emerge. And the camellias are blooming nicely, indicating that they have indeed survived the upheaval of construction. This year I am seeing the largest and most profuse blossoms yet. Blossoms the thrill me even as I worry about the way the weight of the heavy bloom has the branches leaning downward, almost touching the table below.
But truthfully various small bits and buds thrill me almost as the large showy camellia blossoms and the hellebores -- and hellebores fill me with boundless joy. The blueberries are budding again. They budded in January and I feared for them, feared the devastation of frost on tender growth. And here I am in mid March surrounded by promise and resilience.
And the hydrangeas are in various stages of bud formation, mostly with barely discernible leaf buds visible only if I look closely as I am weeding around them. This one however is a little more adventurous. Or is it reckless? only time will tell.
And as to that sense of being slightly overwhelmed I mentioned earlier, whence did it arrive? I noticed that the peonies, which have been sheltered in pots behind the house for nearly two years now, are starting to bud. That means I need to get them transplanted before they completely open. Peonies don't really like being transplanted, and I am already pushing their boundaries for acceptable settling-in time. But I hadn't yet planned the perfect spot, so some time yesterday was spent out in the front flower bed with paper, pencils, and measuring tape.
There are only five peonies to plant, and the ground to prepare as well. Doesn't seem like much does it? Five peonies and the ten encore azaleas I picked up on Friday. I tell myself "I'll plant a little here, I'll plant a little there" and then suddenly I am in the thick of it. And yet every new leaf, every new bud is filled with hope..
Hello spring!
