Plant Promises

The gusting wind woke me and kept me from sleep.  It was well below freezing, and I, right there in the middle of the night,  promised my Daphne that I would cover them from the harsh wind first of the Things I get to do today come morning.  Their tender little flower buds were already fat and pink, the fragrance still concealed tightly inside.






But when morning came, the flower buds looks browned and "burnt" from the cold and low humidity. It seemed too late. I thanked them for trying.  There would be other flowers.  There would be other years with less harsh winters.

But now this morning, two weeks later, the snows and ices all melted, the smallest flash of a flower caught my eye over breakfast. Was it really possible that the Daphne kept its promise of blossoms and fragrance and bliss though it was too late for me to keep mine?

Just For You!

Freshly scratched earth.  Moved all the "weeds" to the hen yard.

I did it for you.  We've had a spot of sun today. I grabbed it and ran outside to scratch in the earth, move a few mislocated plants into the hen yard for the girls to eat, and tend the chicken house.

Not bragging here over the good fortune of our good weather. I've been reading your posts of the increasing intensity of yearning for spring, for dirt, for seeds and sprouts, for the warmth of the sun. And I know that many of you are sitting out your umpteenth snow storm while your hands clench the seed catalog and a hot drink.

That's why I rushed outside.  It was the most important of Things I get to do today:  to use the little window of dry sun to honor all your longings.  Is it not easier to bear a thing if you know the situation is not universal, if you know that someone, somewhere is holding the light, the hope, the vision so that you can yourself break through once more into your bliss?  The snow will melt.  The sun will shine.  The earth will warm.  Seeds will sprout.  All is well.  I did this for you.

Even Birds Do It

Anonymous tango drummer

They were hot--all three of them.

Diego, down under, moving to impress this hot chick

It was some kind of Flicker foreplay:  a male on the chimney cap pulsing out enticing rhythms, a female and another male in a no-touch tango with quick, sensuous dips and sways entwined with brief, very still, pauses.

Hey, Big Guy, come closer!

Flirting feathers

Heads turned and bobbed to the beat, tail feathers, normally gathered to a point, were spread  into an alluring fan. My rooftop was the dance floor.







But then suddenly Diego flew away, followed by the hot chick and finally, the drummer on the chimney who never told me his name.  Wow, what a show right in broad daylight at nine in the morning and Things I get to do today included having a front row seat--my rooftop, after all.

Only a hundred feet up the street two Varied Thrush flirted from tree to tree. I normally see Varied Thrush as ground feeders and only when the temperatures are below freezing during the day.   Something must be in the air.

Moments later two Song Sparrows zipped by in close formation, then into a leafless tree and down to the ground.  Something was on their mind besides seeds and bugs.  Timing is everything, I'm told.  I had lengthened my morning walk by an extra couple of blocks and arrived home to see the glorious meaning of spring.

Signs

I used to do it every year somewhere around the 21st.  The 21st sounds like spring.  My thing was that I usually started looking for signs of it around the 21st of January or the 21st of February.  By March the signs were the size of billboards so it was silly to say you were looking.  By then everybody could see it.

Raspberry sorbet in its infancy

So it was shocking to me this morning as I was sweeping and vacuuming and generally tidying up in the hen yard (hyperbole intended for those of you who may think I'm over the top on this neatness thing) that the raspberry canes were wriggling out vigorous shoots that would soon be branchlets 18" long with leaves and flowers and then soft, fat, sweet, warm berries, all this tucked into a slow motion explosion of life.

 Brunnera
  First out and last in--a full-season bloomer

A quick take around: the yard indeed looked like a billboard worthy of spring documentation.

Striped Iris

Tulip cup filled to the brim with Oregon rain

Lush moss

This is the most heady of Things I get to do today:  "page" through the leaves of my own yard "catalog" and bask in the elegant rush of life on all sides--Spring.

A dance of Delphiniums

Day Lilies

Looking Up

Looking up!

We are all pretending it is Spring.  That's so dangerous this time of year that it almost qualifies one for being insane.  Weather, being fickle as it is, can drag us back to middle of January as soon as we set out a tender plant.

Delicious and exquisite and filled with Viburnum fairies.

But even my winter flowers are gushing their joy over the sunshine, the warmth, the blue sky.

Intense life ready to burst out. Shy fairies hiding behind

Dawn Viburnum reigns in my yard.  Its mission it is to be cheery in the midst of dreary and to be brilliant as well as lovely on a winter day.

Explosion of fragrance and beauty
Fairy sitting just to the right on the twig

Sharing everything about it except the fragrance and trying the "scratch and sniff" app on my computer are Things I get to do today.  I've not been keeping up with technology, so probably haven't downloaded the needed program.  I'll bet you're more savvy and can not only smell this beauty, but can see the cute little flower spirits as well.  And don't be a curmudgeon and say that flowers don't have such.  When you look at these danties, you know that they do. If we can pretend it's spring, we can certainly. . .