Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: garden


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WordPress Photo Challenge: Intricate

As usual I had lots of ideas, places to go, things to look at.  And then I decided to stay at home and enjoy this beautiful weather in my own yard.

cropped grape hyacenth

You can see all the interpretations of Intricate at the original post, or check out a few of my favorites here, here and here.

This is a really interesting topic and one I’d like to explore further.  We’ll see if I find anything more.  Might be later this summer.  Or winter.  Or sometime.  Meanwhile look around in your own life.  What do you notice, what’s beautiful because of it’s intricacies?

 


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Waiting

Friends and family south of us are sharing photos of flowers and trees blooming.  It’s a full out celebrations of spring down there.  It snowed again here this morning; not a blizzard but enough for us to realize winter still has us held hostage.

Remnants of last year

Remnants of last year

Katie and I explored the yard today, checking for signs of life.  She sniffed for spring while I pulled some grass from the perennial bed, felt the wet earth between my fingers, plucked a seed head from last year’s bee balm and crumbled it.   The aroma of last summer’s blossoms was faint but distinctive.

Deep beneath the winter debris of leaves and mulch are tucked the beginning of this season’s sedum.  And over by the fence hidden under last year’s ornamental grass is the bright green of poppy foliage.

Hope emerges

Hope emerges

I wondered.  Could it be that back behind the house there might be a surprise waiting?  It’s Easter today, and yes it snowed.  But look at the solitary snowdrop we found hiding behind the house.

 

Proof blooms

Proof blooms

It’s snow of a different kind and proof winter is relinquishing it’s hold.  So much hope manifested in such a tiny blossom. Spring has begun.

Even here.

 

Pre-poppy

Pre-poppy

 

 


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Planning our escape

Pretty light

Pretty light

This is that in between time here in the Midwest.  After the warm holidays filled with lights and family and good food and days off work but before the seed catalogs filled with lush green images of plants and blossoms and the LL Bean catalogs filled with swimsuits and walking shorts fill our mailboxes with hope.   For many of us it’s an empty time of year filled with cold windy gray afternoons sandwiched by  cold dark mornings and early dark evenings.  Some of us can only see endless days of shoveling snow and scraping windshields.

We think it will go on forever.

And so we dream.  We dream of warm sandy beaches and blue skies.  Palm trees or dessert cacti.  Maybe both.   And we plan.  We look at maps and brochures, scout destinations online.  We huddle around our fireplaces or over warm drinks and talk about exotic sights, intoxicating music, crowded markets.  Heat.  Laughter.  Fun.

Sometimes we get to go on those dream vacations.  Sometimes it’s not possible.  But here’s the thing.  While we are dreaming and planning, researching and reading, we experience the fun and sun in a different way.  We get to explore the possibilities and the impossibilities.  And it is fun.   Our souls warm while we dream and plan.  The days get lighter, we notice the sun more often.

The weight of winter slips just a bit.

In these last weeks of January take some time to dream, even to plan.   Find warmth and fun wherever you can, but be observant.  The days are getting longer; soon it will be February and those seed catalogs will be in our mailboxes.

And we will once again shed the gray and move toward the sun.

I’m counting on it.

Pretty bird

Pretty bird

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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Spring cleaning

December memories

December memories

Ha!  I bet you thought I was going to entertain you with stories from the backs of closets or under beds.  And how would that relate to the frigid photo above?  Are you confused?

Well so is our yard this spring.  Confused.  After the brutal winter we are managing to get through a sad and wet spring.  We didn’t get any forsythia blooms, no redbud blossoms, the Japanese maple is dead, many of our birch were irretrievably bent during December’s ice storm.

So this spring instead of planting beautiful young flowers, patting soil gently around their tender roots, our tools look like this:

Cleanup tools

Cleanup tools

And the results are just as harsh.

Makes me cry

Makes me cry

It’s a sad spring, but some things are blooming, and Katie of course tries to brighten our day.  So I guess we will accept what is and move forward with what’s left of our landscape.  Let’s hope next winter isn’t as harsh.  I don’t think the plants that survived this last one could make it through a second.

Hey Mama! This one made it!

Hey Mama! This one made it!

I don’t think I could either.

brrrrrrrrr

brrrrrrrrr


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Forget me not

Forget Me Not

Forget Me Not

I spent some of this first day of the 3 day holiday weekend weeding.  It’s the same old thing, by the time I get around to weeding the perennial garden it’s overrun with grass.  I don’t even need to take a before picture – it looks the same as it did last year at this time.  Think of a long green rectangle filled to overflowing with grass waving knee high.  You would be accurate.

So what does a person think about when she’s pulling grass mindlessly for an hour or so?  Well if you’re me, you think about your Dad.   He’d have been 85 last February.  I’d have liked to see him achieve that age, see what he was interested in, what he’d think about world events.  I imagine him talking to the DOT about truck issues, can hear his impatience with the slowness that is Washington.    I hear his encouragement to keep up the good fight.

I think about Mom too, of course.  She loved her flowers and her birds.  Though she didn’t die at the same time or in the same way as Dad, it sometimes feels like one event, their deaths happened so close together.  I think about her when the oriole couple visit, or when I hear the cranes in the swamp up the road.  And I think about her when I’m weeding.

This week while work was especially difficult I’d get up from my desk to stretch and glance out the window.  Thursday and Friday almost every time I did a robin flew around the corner of the building and landed at the tip top of a tall spruce tree, about level with my window.  It swayed in the breeze and chattered as I stood and watched and smiled.  Eventually I’d get back to work and when I’d glance out in a bit the bird was gone.  But it was back three or four times when I’d stand up to stretch, and the last time it stared in my direction while it chattered.  I know the windows are glazed and the bird can’t really see me.  And the bird couldn’t know that I needed that little bit of entertainment during a very bad day.  But each time that robin turned up I’d said “hi” to Mom, and before I sat down again I’d say a silent “bye, see you next time.”

So I’ve been thinking about the two of them a lot these past few days.  That’s not a bad thing, I’ve sort of enjoyed it.  Especially during these beautiful spring days when I’m pulling weeds in my garden and they’re both just a memory away.

Broken hearts

Broken hearts


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Spring? Are you sure?

Pretty

Pretty

This is not my garden.  Did you think maybe?  I can only hope.  First of all chipmunks have long since eaten all my crocus bulbs.  And second, my garden still looks like this right now:

Not pretty

Not pretty

This is, instead, a lovely handwritten note sent by a friend through snail mail, to surprise me on the first day of spring.  And it did indeed surprise me.  But more importantly it made me smile.  A lot.  The whole effect, the beautiful flowers and the getting something in the mail, made my day and I want to say thank you.  Thank you very much.  You know who you are.

In our part of the world it doesn’t look much like spring, though we got rain last night instead of more snow, so there is hope.  And a professor friend of mine posted on Facebook yesterday that the sandhill cranes were back.  She lives an hour south of me, so I expected I’d hear them soon.  They have such a distinctive cry you can’t confuse it with anything else.  And do you know what?  This very morning as Katie and I were out front slogging along in the soggy yard looking for the perfect spot there arose from the treetops across the street such a screeching that we both jumped.  The sound bounced off the houses and careened around spruce trees.  I never saw them, but it was evident they were right there!  I laughed out loud and Katie looked at me in question.  Did you hear that girl!?  Did you here THAT!  And what happened next just added proof to the pudding.

A red winged blackbird sang.  And sang again so there was no mistake.  Sometime last night, while we were lying awake listening to the rain on the roof the real spring arrived in my very own neighborhood.

Katie and I took the camera out back to see if we happened to have anything popping up from the ground.  All we found was this:

Faint hope

Faint hope

Do you see?  Let me get closer:

Proof

Proof

It’s not much, but in combination with my birds, well, I can finally let my shoulders fall back from up around my ears where they were shivering.  I can take a deep breath and taste the warm muggy days to come.  I can look out over my snow covered yard and envision the pear tree and redbud blooming.  Someday there will be daffodils after all.  I had so little faith.

Katie says all today means to her is that there is less snow on the deck and more sticks that need breaking up into sheltie sized pieces.  She thinks that’s good enough for now.

Sticks Mama!

Sticks Mama!

I think she’s a smart dog.

I know I am.

I know I am smart.