Posted by: A Part of the Solution | March 16, 2010

They’re Baa-aaack!

Aren't they lovely?

I love spring. Though really, I love all the seasons. They’re so right for their time of year. It’s funny how summer works so well when it’s all hot out and the days are long, long, long and the humidity climbs and bugs do too. And Autumn perfectly captures the time of year when the air becomes crisp and the wind blows and the leaves swirl in a crazy quilt of texture and color and shape. Winter has exactly the right amount of darkness and starkness and cold-to-the-boneness that I like in the depths of the year.

Spring has its own thing going on and more. Spring is so over-done it’s on the cusp of the hysterical (in the Freudian sense of the word). There is no sense of proportion in the compulsive, and lavishly–even, ludicrously–fertile, cycle it represents. Blossoms verge on throwing themselves into bloom everywhere. And the birds cannot keep quiet in their enthusiasm for the beginning of this multi-layered, endlessly unfolding, nearly unbearably erotic season.

The flowers all start out in white and purple and gold–the ecclesiastical colors of the season of Lent-into-Easter. Splashes of scarlet will pop out from the Japonica Quince bushes and then the real yellows and whites will get going with forsythia, daffodils and narcissi. And it only builds from there.

Today was the first day of spring by my reckoning. Only yesterday, one of my buddies was pulling the top layers of leaves out of the beds and raking up the twigs and other plant detritus. She exposed dozens upon dozens of daffodil stands and the beginnings of what may turn out to be tulips in time. This demulching also  gave light and air to various ground covers populating the beds and borders. It was exciting to see the bones of the garden begin to emerge.

Yet today, not yesterday, is the real date. The true beginning. The moment of revelation. Today is the day the crocuses poked their buds into blossoms and croaked. They’re a deep, deep purple. And their stamen are a rich, saffronic gold.  I’ve seen more crocuses in one place. I’ve seen mixed beds and borders of all sorts of crocuses to make the serious gardener proud. But I am completely besotted with this lovely little patch of bulbs.

In a week or two there will be so much more crowding my visual scope. I’ll have a hard time focusing on any one piece of the collective loveliness that is spring. But this moment, this day, is captured in my mind’s eye and locked in my memory. This is the day I saw my first flowers during my first year on the farm. And they’re the perfect little souls for the job. Every single one of them.

Excuse me, I might be going out front to name the flowers–one by one. They’re mine, I may do with them as I please. And they have not yet begun to make a show.


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