Having spent three decades in the Arizona desert -- where the climate could be described as hot, pizza oven hot, and hell -- and gardening was like trying to grow flowers in kitty litter, once we moved here to East Tennessee, where we celebrate four full seasons, mulch became my life. Every year we plant 800-1000 bulbs, and we've also planted several trees. I've always seen bulbs as an act of faith. A belief life's going to continue. We plant them while fall color blazes, with the optimistic belief that months later, they'll burst through the ground and proclaim spring.After 60.66 inches (!!!) of rain last year, and even a few inches of snow this winter, spring was late in arriving. But when it did, it dazzled. For those of you living where the season hasn't yet fully sprung, or for anyone who just enjoys visiting other peoples' gardens, as I do, welcome to my world.
First there were crocuses.
Then the daffodils.
And hyacinths.
Then the forsythia, looking for all the world like gold dust on a bush.
Next the four Bradford pears outside my office windows and in the back yard got into the act.
And the Japanese cherry trees out the kitchen window. As you can see, when they first came out they looked white.
But then I noticed they were starting to look a little pinkish. Closer examination revealed that the centers were turning pink.
Two days later, the trees are now entirely a beautiful shade of pink.
Although we celebrate a month-long Dogwood Festival this time of year, our dogwoods are a little behind. As are the redbud trees. Then there will be tulips, irises, all types of lilies, roses, Crepe Myrtle, and heritage flowers, some from Monticello, grown from seeds Thomas Jefferson cultivated, which, to me, makes them super special.
Stay tuned. . .
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14 comments:
Ah! I feel better now. Beautiful color.
Thanks! Glad the perked up your day. :)
Oops. That would be glad THEY picked up your day! Where's a copy editor when I need one?
Man oh man. With all that gardening, when do you find time to write?
Gwendolynne (Love your name!) -- digging in soil is a dandy way to let my mind drift and muse about storylines. Not only is it a lot more fun than cleaning, the rewards last longer.
I'll also admit to having a yard boy to take care of most of the upkeep, like spreading mulch, pruning, and weeding. Which is what sweetie got for taking way early retirement. LOL
That said, I do enjoy deadheading roses early in the morning when the dew's still on the bushes. I've always found that hugely restful for some reason.
I envy you. Up here in Chicagoland, we have some daffodils, and some real leaves on the crabapple, but my tulips are buds and the peonies are beginning to jump out of the ground. We've had more rain, with the possibility of snow. Then there was that hailstorm the night before last. Ah, spring!
Cheers,
Ann
Ann, my neighbors' tulips have bloomed, but most of mine are still buds. Funny how different sides of the street are so different. (When we had a house built in Oregon, I chose the side of the street I knew would melt the snow faster for the back yard. The front still had snow around the steps in May.)
Tried peonies here, but they didn't work. I don't know whether it was our clay -- though where I put them is finally mostly good soil now after all these years -- or the heat and humidity, but most of the time they'd turn brown before they even opened.
Funny, I was telling sweetie just the other day that I missed crabapple trees. LOVED ours when I was growing up.
I love looking at the signs of spring at your house.Your flowers are beautiful. This is my 4th spring in Indianapolis after 35 years in Texas where there are only 2 seasons. I have a new appreciation for spring after 6 months without green. I have been spreading 8 yds of mulch these past couple days and boy do I feel every unused muscle in my body!
Hey Pamela -- Isn't it super having four seasons? Ouch on the soreness from mulch spreading. We had a truckload delivered yesterday, but sweetie, aka yard boy, is spreading it. That's what he gets for taking way early retirement. LOL
This gives me hope that someday I will have an office where I create beautiful poetry each day and have a view full of beautiful things in nature!
JoAnn
you take a great picture and what a wonderful subject. All I have up are my daffidols and one poor hyacinth and a lone tulip... clay soil is not kind to my flowers. I may have to talk a walk out back to see if the crap apple tree has blossomed yet.
thanks for sharing your purty spring flowers!
Jewelbug -- Oh, I know that! We have clay, too. It's taken me twelve years and many truckloads of mulch several times a yr to finally turn parts of it into soil. I have to admit, I get really excited when I turn over some soil and find a big fat earthworm! Guess I'm easily pleased. LOL
Miss crabapples; we had one in Oregon when I was growing up, but I've never seen one here.
Will be posting pics of redbud, azaleas and bluebells Tuesday.
Funny you talked about trying peonies but they didn't work for you. My dad planted some peony roots when hubby and I moved into this house back in '78. The roots were originally planted by my grandmother's grandmother in middle Tenn. Adding my daughter, son and now new grandson, we call them (4 bushes) the seven-generation plants. Because of all the rain, they're turning brown now.
Betty, that's lovely about your plants' history. The year I tried peonies was one of those years, like this past one, where it rained from October through May. They never opened. Just went to buds, then turned brown. Maybe if I'd stuck with them, they would've survived because the next year we had a drought. But when I lived in Phoenix, where we had three seasons -- hot, pizza oven hot, and hell -- I developed this gardening plan that anything that couldn't survived for a year was out.
The exception to that here are the fifteen rhododendron in our wooded area in the back yard. The poor things are about eight years old and always struggle no matter what we do to them. Every winter I swear I'm going to dig them out,but then spring comes and I don't have the heart.
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