Spring

Spring Cleaning — Better Late Than Never

/ Kevin / 21 Comments

Tulip.

Tulip.

“My name is Allison MacKenzie.  Where I was born, time was told not by the clock or the calendar, but by the seasons.  Summer was carefree contentment.  Autumn was that bittersweet time of regret for moments that had ended and things that were yet undone.  And then winter fell, with a cold mantle of caution and chill, it nipped our noses and our arrogance and made us move closer to the warm stoves of memory and desire.  Spring was promise.  But there was a fifth season, of love.  And only the wise or the lucky ones new where to find it.”

This is the opening monologue from the film Peyton Place.  It’s here because a few weeks ago a reader, Camille, commented on an earlier post entitled Autumn In Peyton Place.  She had been searching for the verse and could I help her.  I popped in the DVD and took some dictation.

But after I read over the words, it occurred to me that if only seasons could be so easy and uncomplicated that their description could fit into a single — albeit melodramatic — paragraph.  If only . . .

Because lately, it seems, seasons are not so neat and tidy.  This spring, for example, has been one of the coolest — make that coldest — and dampest ones that I can remember.  Even this Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial start of summer, had snow falling in upstate New York.

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Bloomin’ Update 40: La Dolce Muscari

/ Kevin / 18 Comments

Muscari

When my friend Maria presented me with a small bag of Muscari bulbs as a gift years ago, I had no idea that that would be the start of a beautiful relationship.  My first thought was, “How cute.  Grape hyacinths — even the name sounds petite and demure.”  Nothing, though, could be farther from the truth.

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Bloomin’ Update 39: Spring Awakening!

/ Kevin / 37 Comments

Climbing Hydrangea

I am so distracted these days, and spring is to blame.  There’s the smell of freshness on the breeze, the chirps and calls of birds in the morning, and the daily display of fifty shades of green.  All I want to do is work in the yard: clean the beds, rake the lawn, bring out the terracotta pottery, inhale deeply — but I do have a day job that demands much of my time and a post to write.

Writing, though, is near impossible.  Spring stimulates all of my senses, and each time I step outside, I am overwhelmed with words, feelings, and adjectives.  Rather than write them down, they swirl inside my head as I become lost in the intoxicating world that is spring.

And so, I surrender to those who have already placed their words on paper, words that illustrate the beauty of the gardener’s most magical season.

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To Blow Or To Suck, That Is The Question

/ Kevin / 40 Comments

Of course, I’m referring to leaves — what on earth were you thinking — because my yard is, once again, overrun with leaves — which is strange, since I have very vivid memories of autumn weekends with a rake.  I’m positive I raked this yard a few months ago.  In fact, I’ve written extensively about my love of raking, and the peace and nostalgia that this chore delivers.

Blower/Vac

But as I look out at a yard buried under as many leaves as I raked in the fall, I have decided that I am not a fan of spring raking.  It’s bothersome and it gets in the way of what I really want to do, which is prepare the beds for actual gardening — not this maintenance stuff.  I’ve waited through all of winter for this first warmish weekend to work outside — and raking is not on my list of things to do.

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Bloomin’ Update 38: It’s So Easy Seeing Green

/ Kevin / 19 Comments

Shamrock

With St. Patrick’s Day around the corner and me tuning up my bagpipes, it suddenly occurred to me how appropriate it is that this most Irish of celebrations, where green is the color of the day, is held in March.  This third month, after all, is the time when green returns to the landscape.

Irish eyes may be smiling, but on a recent walk through the garden, as I brushed aside brown winter leaves, I found my gardener’s eyes smiling at the excitement and promise of once again seeing green.

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How Bagpipes Changed My Life

/ Kevin / 49 Comments

Bagpipes

March is an interesting time for gardeners.  It’s the month when the first warm breezes begin to melt winter’s icy grip, when the garden begins to stir, when hints of green suddenly appear, when it’s time to get outside and get things ready for the gift that is spring.

At least that’s how my March used to be until about five years ago, when my March literally became MARCH — as in parade.  I’m a bagpiper and March is piping season, with each weekend devoted to at least two to three St. Patrick’s Day parades — making this St. Patrick’s Month.

But as the first of the parades gets underway, March is also the time that I reflect on how I came to be a piper and how thankful I am that bagpipes entered my life.  This post is that story.

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I Canna Believe It’s You!

/ Kevin / 18 Comments

Once the Elephant Ears were cleaned and planted, it was time to turn my attention to Canna.  Like their large-leaved companions, Canna are also over-wintered in brown paper bags filled with peat moss and then stored in the cement bunker at a steady, cool temperature.  (One year, I stored them in the garage, which was too cold and too moist.  The result was a smelly, mushy mess.)

For this demonstration, I’ll use my absolute most favorite Canna, “Black Knight.”  The leaves are big and bold and bronzy red, with hot red blooms.  And the rhizomes, well, they’re meaty.  That’s right.  Meaty.

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Bloomin’ Update 21: Down The Rabbit Hole

/ Kevin / 38 Comments

 

I was all set to do a before and after photo spread, starting off with white and colored eggs in the spirit of the Easter holiday, and then segue into a series of photos about my pre- and post-Spring clean-up.

Before: The implied knot garden.

My raking , though, became more of an excavation as I uncovered plants that I hadn’t seen in some time — and my imagination kicked in.  Suddenly, I was a space explorer hovering over an unchartered alien world, boldly going where no man had gone before.  Or, in keeping with the season, I was Alice down the rabbit hole — and the garden grew curiouser and curiouser.

An oasis of peony.

The Valley of Lily of the Valley.

A view of Hosta Heights.

The edge of the Great Boxwood Forest.

The Spiderwort Wood, or as the local tribes call it, Tradescantia.

The Great Desert was once a colorful jungle. What happened here?

The unfurling tendrils of the Ferocious Ferns are poised to snag an unsuspecting wanderer.

When I came to, I was back in my garden, rake in hand and surveying my work . . .

After: The implied knot garden.

. . . still unsure about where I had been.  But at least I have the photos to prove that it was a real place. 

Happy Passover.  Happy Easter.

Bloomin’ Update 20: Bulbalicious!

/ Kevin / 36 Comments

The other day when I pulled into the driveway and stepped from my car, I was overcome by the sweet perfume scent of Hyacinths.  It’s a smell that I call intoxicating.  In fact, I’ve referred to this scent as intoxicating so often and for so many years that it has become a sort of running joke between myself and Joe. 

“Can you smell that?” I begin.  “It’s . . . “

“I know, I know,” answers Joe.  “It’s intoxicating.”

Now I’m thinking of breaking out of predictability with a new description for Hyacinth — and I’m going with Bulbalicious.  I figure if the vernacular can work for Beyonce, why not Hyacinth?

While Hyacinth may be the headliner on the Spring stage, we mustn’t overlook the supporting bloomers.  Afterall, we all know what happened to Diana Ross & the Supremes.  Besides, these back-up harmonizers are all Bulbalicious in their own right.

Tulip — a little shy now, but emerging slowly.

What’s her name again?  I’m not sure what to call this dainty flower, but she’s reliable.

Watch out for Muscari.  With a name like that, she’s the vixen of the bunch, and she just might push Hyacinth out of the spotlight.  In fact, I believe she’s exploring a film role as a tree in a Dr. Seuss movie.

At this time of year, I have all the drama and diva attitudes I can handle right in the garden. What’s that I hear? “And I am telling you, I’m not going. . . You’re gonna love me . . .”  

Bulbalicious all the way.

 

 

Spring, “The Secret Garden,” and You

/ Kevin / 25 Comments

I cannot think of a better way to celebrate spring than with a visit to The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic piece of children’s literature about a willful girl, pain and loss, and the healing power of gardening.  By the way, do not be turned off by the “children’s literature” label — it’s a story that knows no age.

I must admit that although this book was first published in 1911, I never got around to reading it – and that was a huge mistake.  Yes, I am familiar with the various film interpretations, but I never treated myself to the beauty of Burnett’s written words. 

My second mistake was downloading the free Kindle version.  With each “page,” I found myself nodding along as Burnett captured in language all of my thoughts about gardening.  And with each nod, I craved an illustration.  Fortunately, the strength of the prose allowed me to paint the images in my mind.

Before The Secret Garden was published in book format, it ran as a serial – sort of like posts on a blog.  To correct my mistakes, I would like to invite Frances Hodgson Burnett to be today’s guest blogger via a few spring-like passages.

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