Spring is an unfolding, one delicate, ephemeral bloom after another. Each day, something fades, something emerges. I bring a few daffodils into the house and admire the rest in my garden, each variety in succession from early, mid to late-blooming narcissi. Each day, new life, new blossoms of white or pink, first from the peach tree, then the apricot, the pear and lastly, the apples, each tree obeying its own timetable to emerge from winter.
In Japan, sakura is the ancient Japanese festival celebrating cherry blossoms. They have a tradition called hanami, where people walk among the cherry trees, share a meal and admire the beauty of spring in all its glory. I hold my own hanami on a stone bench near my mini-orchard, watching in silence and wonder as the buds burst, burgeon, fall and inevitably fade.
A whisper garden
Mine is a whisper garden. By being quiet, I take in the sounds of spring; by just watching, I increase my chances of having an experience with wildlife. A nesting jay reacts to my presence, a quail family skitters across the gravel path. As I walk through my garden in silence, I find that each tree has its own unique sound, especially in the wind. Try it, close your eyes and take in the sounds of a spring garden … they’re as lovely as birdsong.
Gardening is about mindfulness, and I always feel very present in the moment when garden-making.
At night before I fall asleep, I listen. Sometimes I catch the faint hoots of great horned owls. Then it seems like they are right outside in the darkness.
I encounter something new each day that surprises and inspires me. I can’t think of a better place than a garden to spend my time. I think of my patch as a partnership with nature, a partnership with the landscape. I start off leading the charge, but as time goes on, nature becomes the senior partner. The garden tells me what it needs and what to do next. Gardening is about mindfulness, and I always feel very present in the moment when garden-making.
One of the joys of spring requires observation, getting up close, studying minute leaves, buds and blossoms. In our modern industrialized society, we’re oversaturated with images and words, electronic doubles rather than real experiences. We end up noticing less and less, unless it’s particularly showy, nasty, raunchy or violent. We forget to immerse ourselves in the utterly amazing detail of nature. We forget to stop and stare.
3 fleeting, diminutive wonders in my garden
They remind me to look closely and again!
Snake’s head fritillary (Fritillaria meleagris)
The nodding, pink-and-purple-checkered flowers of the snake’s head fritillary are said to resemble a snake, hence the name. The denizen of semi-shady, moist ground, this delicate plant can be seen only in spring. Its bell-like flowers nod on thin stems with narrow, grey-green leaves. It’s best in the front of a border as it’s only around 10 inches tall. Left to itself in the right environment, it will reseed and expand in number every year.
It’s native to the meadows of Europe and Western Asia. Sadly, commercial agriculture has wiped out so many wild meadows, and thus, this plant has disappeared in so many areas. Its understated and architectural beauty is so graceful. The great English gardener and writer, Vita Sackville-West, wrote “the hanging cups of fritillaries, when backlit in the softer glow of early morning or mid-evening, glow a warm rich red, the colour of a young Beaujolais.”
Dog Tooth’s Violet, ‘Pagoda’ (Erythronium)
The variety ‘Pagoda’ is a spring perennial with rich green leaves and stems bearing up to 10 nodding flowers, with elegantly recurved, pointed petals. They are found in shady or woodland gardens, growing from long, toothlike bulbs. They die back shortly after flowering.
Erythroniums are a member of the lily family and are stunning under a deciduous tree or border. There are many varieties of erythroniums, but moist soil is a must to be successful with them. Their origin lies in the meadows and forests of North America and Central/Southern Europe from Portugal to Ukraine.
The ‘Pagoda’ is a hybrid of two erythronium species, identifiable by their mottled foliage and sulphur-yellow flowers with a brown ring at the throat. Pagoda will spread and are amazing planted in a cluster.
Toad or Toadshade trillium (Trillium sessile)
The last example is a challenging addition to my garden, but I found a protected, semi-shady spot for them with a companion fern. The first year it produced leaves but no blooms. Trilliums are long-lived, woodland perennial wildflowers native to the U.S., with a broad distribution from the West Coast to North Carolina. They are most famously found in the Pacific Northwest, where they can readily be seen in groups in forested areas and gardens.
Toad Trillium produces small tri-petaled blooms in a range of hues from dark red to maroon, sometimes brownish-purple. It grows from a short, thick rhizome and emerges from the ground with three leaves (actually bracts), wonderfully mottled. The tiny flower stops me in my tracks every time, set against its highly ornamental foliage. Blooms appear from April to May, and butterflies love this low-growing perennial.
"СВЯЗАННОЕ ЧТЕНИЕ" THE GUEST OF THE EMPEROR: Finding the will to survive in a bonsai»
фото 1 Hands off my tags! Michael Gaida с Pixabay 2 image by pieonane с Pixabay 3 all other images by author
