The wanton ways of flowers in springtime

The cosmos seems to say, “Ta da!” as it opens to the sun.

I love the wanton ways of flowers in springtime. They like to open up and spread their petals when nobody is looking, but now and then on a shining morning I catch them flaunting their freshness.

They are so playful and replete with joy as they offer themselves to passing pollinators. Some make me laugh at the way they seem to sing “Ta da!” as they fling out their petals in a burst of sun-warmed enervation. There is a rhythmic dance to the way they emerge, all bright and flawless, some enticingly perfumed, dressed in their blazing colours. Even in the rain they can’t restrain themselves, unfolding more slowly, looking dewy and innocent.

Some, the peonies, unfold their petals one-by-one in a lazy sort of way. They can afford to take their time, there are so many of them. The daisy types, though, are more spontaneous, more willing to bare it all in one grand gesture. Petunias shyly un-crumple like poppies but their wrinkled petals soon turn satin smooth in the sun.

“Pick me! Pick me!” the lily begs of the bee.

Tulips unfurl in a tentative way, gradually revealing their hearts to the sun until, throwing caution aside like an unwanted blanket, they spread their petals wide in abandon. Lilies do the same, stamens reaching for any passing bee. “Pick me, pick me!”

Zinnias unroll their petals more sedately; anthers slowly unbend into an upright position like dancers in the Rite of Spring.

The parabolic crocuses are very forthright in their seduction by the sun. Long before the snow has completely left the ground, the crocuses entice fingers of sunlight to reach inside, concentrating the warming rays into the centre of the flower to fuel early seed production. This is serious business for the crocus; a late heavy frost can put it out of production for the year.

This weekend, there was a heavy breeze on Saturday that carried traces of the coming spring. It felt like March, during those blood stirring days when you know that the sun will win in the end and that all the snow will soon wither and leave, shrinking and slipping away into gray puddles, its dazzling white now past history.

Today, there is a blizzard outside the city limits. People are stranded in truck stops on the highway just a stone’s throw away because the roads are sheer ice and visibility is zero. That’s part of the coming springtime, too. This is when we usually get our deadliest winter storms that can dump several feet of snow overnight and then, aided by a biting wind, fling back it at faces and unprotected spaces like a sand blaster.

But this rebellion is all for naught in the end. The winds will die. The sun will win. The snow will melt. For a time the earth will be laid bare, looking barren but only hiding its secrets: the teeming life already thrumming beneath its surface.

Gently, the warmth of the sun will penetrate the earth, stroking awake the billions of bacteria and protozoa, and fungi, the millions of nematodes, worms, beetles, grubs, slugs, ants and spiders and all the beauty and richness of the eco system that surrounds the roots of our plants. The world beneath the surface of the earth is so many times more diverse and rich than our own. No wonder the plants want to reside there. Why be concerned about mobility when everything they need is so ready-to-root? The symbiotic relationship plants have formed both below and above ground allows them to exploit the best of both worlds.

And they put it all to such wonderful use, providing us with food for the body and food for the soul.

The crocus knows how to entice fingers of sun into its centre to start seed production early.

Lupine buds ready to burst into the open.

They are bright and flawless when they emerge.

A zinnia unfolds its anthers that look like dancers unbending in the Rite of Spring.

They all add food for the soul.

 

The Last of the 200 Bulbs…

The last of the 200 bulbs went in today. It was cloudy and cold in the garden, which urged me to finish. We nearly always have snow on Halloween and even though the forecast calls for a warm, sunny day, old habits die hard and I am not taking any chances. Planting tulips under the first snowfall is possible, but it is not fun.

The last eight daffodils just before they were tucked away.

Yesterday morning, I slipped outside into the sunshine, camera in hand to try and capture a bit of the frost that has finally spelled an end to the remaining flowers. It still felt like October then, but today, November looms large and next week, the time will change and the days will suddenly become much shorter.

Clara Curtis, a lovely single chrysanthemum, covered in frost

There was ice on the pool cover this morning.

The plants are weary ready for rest.

I brought in the creeping rosemary, which had been sharing a pot with some now dead flowers, so I made it move over to share some space with a parsley that is still recovering from its onslaught of parsley worms this summer. I don’t know if parsley and rosemary are good bed partners or not, but for now, the rosemary is perfuming the kitchen with heavenly scent. Come to think of it, parsley is one of the partners in that 60s Simon and Garfunkel song, “Scarborough Fair”.

 Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
For once she was a true love of mine.

The song was based on a folk love song and I guess it was kind of a protest song in the 60s – I wouldn’t have noticed; I just remembered the reference to the herbs which made it quite lovely to me.

And now, outside the garden waits for its winter coat. Glenn prepared the lawn yesterday, hope in his heart for a velvety expanse of green next spring. He truly is a gardener – all lawn guys are to my mind – they just express themselves in green perfection. This year, I convinced him to mulch the leaves into the grass, saving his back and giving the grass and the trees a treat of their own making. He is quite entranced with this idea now that he has tried it. He added some seed and turkey trot, a local organic fertilizer, and was quite pleased with himself.

Pat-a-cake’s brother came by this afternoon. He is not at all as friendly as his sister is, but he is just as curious. He paid a little visit to each of my bulb plantings, sniffing them and trying to figure out if what was under the ground was of any value to a cat. He seemed quite intrigued by the scent of the grape hyacinths.

This cat was the only sign of life in the garden. Not even the sparrows are around just now although they will come back when the snow flies. They love to gather in the giant cedars around our house.

This is an impatient time of year. I begin to long for the hush of snow that will soon tuck in the plants and keep them warm through the winter. Inside, it will be time to light the fireplace and candles and pay some attention to the poor houseplants that are so sadly neglected, unless they are outside, from May to October. So far, the ivy I brought in is doing well and so is the Christmas cactus.

At my sunny office, I am having a struggle with mealy bugs – where did they come from? It’s heart breaking to see the little suckers emerge overnight and begin to sip the life out of these plants. I have tried everything – drenching the leaves and soil with neem oil this summer seemed to help, but I noticed the fuzzy devils on my beautiful jade plants Friday. I have a friend who swears that mealies can live in a carpet for years.