Crocuses

A lovely array of purple crocuses catches the light and cheers the heart, marking a further step in the inexorable onset of another springtime.

Waiting for Spring

It's time for the plum blossom extravaganza to begin in our backyard, but continuing chill has put a damper on things. The best we can manage is to make a fuss over some fat buds lining the bare twigs at eye level and a few hard-to-see blossoms way up at the top of the tree -- a mere handful. Not much is happening in the neighborhood, either. Usually by Valentine's Day there is an appropriately festive display of ruffly pink and white bloom lining the streets.

As a reference point, last year on this exact date, February 17th, I took the annual iconic photo of a just-opened perfect white plum blossom low enough on the tree to allow for close-ups. This year, fat buds will have to do.

Plum blossoms call for haiku, of course, but will buds suffice? Pondering this deep question, I noticed the waxing half moon, faintly visible through the denuded upper branches of the tree (not very visible in my photo, unfortunately): a reminder that poetry is where you find it.

Half moon caught in the
Bare branches of the tall plum --
Yet time does not stop.

If time is still moving then spring will surely come.

First Plum Blossom!

The first plum blossom in our backyard inspired some haiku thoughts:

Spring makes a bargain
With the cold air of a bright day:
First white plum blossom.

Buson, when dying,
Hoped for plum blossoms of
Eternity's dawn.

Where every morning
Is the first morning and the
Blossoms never fall.

Buson, the cherished 18th century Japanese poet and painter, is said to have composed his final death-bed poem hoping to see the first iconic blossoms of early spring before he died and comparing them to what he hoped to see after he died.

Perhaps he was making up for an earlier verse with a less transcendent message:

"In nooks and corners
Cold remains:
Flowers of the plum."

(Translated by R. H. Blyth)

It's true that a large part of the haunting beauty of the fragile white flowers that spring suddenly from dead branches arises from their vulnerability and fleetingness. Storms may come; there might be frost. The brave new blooms could be littering the ground as quickly as they appeared.

But they also hold a promise of more beauty to come. Slow, hidden processes are coming to fruition and even though the petals may fall, life goes on and, perhaps, like a poet's prayer, merges with eternity.

That's why, although there have been blossoms all over town for several weeks -- flowering cherry, quince, tulip magnolias -- the first pale plum flower in our own backyard stopped me in my tracks. It's a surprise even when I know it's coming. Usually I'm not looking for it but just happen to notice it while walking by with other tasks in mind.

Something always impels me to note the occasion. I used to jot it down on my calendar. Now I take pictures with a digital camera that records for posterity the date and time.

According to my informal data of the past several years, the first plum blossom appears sometime around Valentine's Day, mid-February, when the seasons are shifting back and forth from day to day. The data is very informal since the "first blossom" is the one that I happen to see -- i.e. it's more or less at eye level, not way up on the high branches.

Let the record show that the first plum blossom of 2012 was photographed on February 17.

First blossom of 2011: February 13.

First blossom of 2010: February 7.

That's as far back as my photographic evidence goes.

Each year this momentary "first" seems more momentous.

First Pear Blossom

On the first fully sunny day we've had in weeks, here is the first official pear blossom of 2011. There are a few other buds partially opened. The chilly weather is supposed to warm up some this week, so the tree will soon be popping like a popcorn maker: first, just a few blossoms here and there, then a fury of bloom all at once.






Just as a reference point, here is a view of the same tree on the same day -- March 28 -- last year. Our cold, wet weather (I think it rained every single day last week!) has slowed spring down a bit, but soon things should be busting out all over. It can't happen too soon!

Back in January it seemed like spring was coming early. It was unseasonably warm and dry for several weeks. But then, going into March, we got day after day after interminable day of fog and rain and chill, sometimes breaking out into genuine tree toppling storms, complete with power outages, mudslides, and flooding. The end result of all this drama is that rainfall totals for the year are now "about average." "Average" sounds pretty good right now.

Plum Blossoms

The plum trees are in bloom! We've had a stretch of unseasonably warm, dry weather for more than a month, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.






The two photos above were taken on February 13, just in time for Valentine's Day. As usual, we are running behind the rest of the neighborhood where the dancing girls of spring in their lacy pink and white tutus have been lining the streets for some time now.






But we are running ahead of last year in this same backyard. Pictured above is the first plum blossom of 2010. The photo was taken on February 7, 2010. You can tell that I hadn't yet learned to use the close-up feature on my Canon Powershot camera! Oh well, it might not work as art but it will serve as evidence.





Here are the plum trees on February 12, 2010. Quite a contrast with this year. Each year tells its own story.

A Fine Spring Day

Hello sour grass, my old friend! Welcome back again. Here you are with one, lone, bright-faced bloom lighting up a neglected corner of the yard. Can spring be far behind?

It was such a splendid, dirt-under the fingernails day I ended up spending the whole morning in the garden. The usual inspection tour -- lately just a quick look around our damp, cold, scraggly, uninviting backyard patch -- turned into a flower photo op.

The first oxalis blossom opened nearly a month earlier than last year -- mid-January as opposed to the week of February 10. (One of the great features of a garden blog is the gradual accumulation of exact data from year to year.) Spring does seem to be running early. There are golden fields of wild mustard blooming already out by the coast and our neighborhood is sporting the first gorgeous tulip magnolias.






The volunteer arugula has put forth its trademark four-petaled blossom, delicately veined like the wings of some kind of exotic helicopter insect. I've seen the hummingbirds buzzing these blooms.






Here is borage -- not a very good photo. I'm sure it looks at lot better than this to the bees who gather here.






The pea plants are blooming again, unfurling like the Japanese folded paper flowers that "bloom" when you put them in water.






More flower origami: elegant black-trimmed fava bean blossoms are opening on three-foot tall stalks.






These hot pink rosettes aren't flowers at all, just some garden art that resulted from the thinning out of an overgrown clump of volunteer chard. Lots of the leaves had been so thoroughly mined by leaf miners that they had rotted into slime during the rainy spells. Yuk!

Undaunted, and energized by the unexpected spring day (I know, I know, it won't last), I weeded and trimmed until the plants could breath and soak up the sun. The lipstick chard pictured above is growing back from a venerable gnarled stump, all that's left of a plant that grew six or seven feet tall last season.






There are several varieties of chard in the patch, some growing from over-wintered stumps, some springing up for the first time.






Here's a shot of the north half of the winter garden. The oxalis and the borage are in the back corner where the fences meet; the arugula is to their right, the peas are in the foreground twining up the wooden stakes, the favas and the patch of chard are out of view to the right. In the foreground you can also see spinach, lacinato kale, and a bed of sponsored arugula. In the background are a couple of beds of lettuce. Out of view are broccoli and leeks. The paths are covered mostly with miner's lettuce. And that's about it.

We are harvesting lettuce, miner's lettuce, spinach, arugula, kale, and chard. We are waiting for broccoli, leeks, another round of peas, and favas.

Ready to pick or not, edible or not, everything looks beautiful on this fine spring day.

Spring Snowfall

We have had another late rain storm, complete with gusting winds. The result is that locust blossoms now litter the yard with a spring snowfall of white petals.

First Freesias

Updated below


The freesias are late this year, at least compared to last year, which is the only data point available. And only the yellow ones came back.

The ways of bulbs are mysterious to me and I am sure there is something I should be doing to keep them from slowly declining. But somehow the lack of care increases the sense of wonder and surprise when they do manage to bloom. And I am in awe of freesias, which hardly seem to belong to earth, they are so intimate with light.

Regardless of how they got here, these sunny blossoms are a haiku-worthy wonder.

Yellow freesias shine,
Gold candles of light arrayed
like candelabra.

Update 4/12/10: Improved version by person recovering from a cold, not coming down with a cold:

Golden freesias shine,
Glowing cups of light arrayed
Like candelabra.

Also a better photo has been substituted; one which shows how the blossoms are arranged on the stalks and how they seem to be a source of light.




Last year the pink freesia appeared first, around March 21, while the plum trees were still spilling petals everywhere.

Baby Plums and Pears

The plum blossoms are gone and the only remaining traces of the rain of white petals are occasional brown spots on the chard and lettuce where petals landed and decomposed. Now, in the inevitable course of events, the first little plums are starting to form.




On the pear tree, the blossoms were battered by several days of rain. I find this photo unexpectedly poignant, with one last petal clinging to a leaf as the first minuscule fruits are revealed. It's a visual haiku.

Pear blossoms in rain,
Petals scattered by cold wind.
The tiny fruits are revealed.

A Cold, Grey, Rainy, Windy Easter Sunday

The blooms are out there, but there is no incentive whatsoever to put on an Easter bonnet and go out to admire the floral displays. It's another cold, rainy day in a series, with more predicted. I looked at the forecast and discovered that all the days I will not be home this week are supposed to be lovely while rain is expected for all the days I will be home. Is this fair?

I will console myself with photographs of flowers. These photos were taken over the course of the past several weeks.

Above is the Lone Poppy. Poppies have been blossoming all over the neighborhood and by the roadsides for the past two weeks, but not in our backyard. The same thing happened with the plum blossoms. We must have a micro-climate that is a bit colder and shadier than nearby front yards and roadsides.




Shown here are lavender, forget-me-nots and calendula, along with the mystery bulbs that were here when we moved in and come up every year without fail. Some year I will find out what they are called.

At first they were only in the front yard but I've been unwittingly transferring them to the backyard by raking up the live oak leaves in the front and using them to cover garden paths in the back. The little bulbs get raked up and carried along. They are a welcome addition, popping up all over with jaunty assurance.




Another front yard mystery bulb. These don't tend to grow near the live oak so remain sequestered in the front yard.




And still another front yard mystery bulb. Just a few of these appear.




A showpiece of the backyard is the Sleeping-Beauty-sized thicket of Cecile Brunner roses, which forms a privacy wall along the southwest edge of the property and provides habitat for all manner of creatures. One year a deer used the thicket for afternoon naps.

Also known as the Sweetheart rose, it starts to bloom in early April. Here is one of the first specimens. There are only a few so far, dotting the dark green wall here and there.




Some volunteer violas, descendants of the 'Lemon Sorbet' I planted several years back. They look ready for the Easter parade. Sorry, ladies. Better luck next year.

Some Things I Thought Were Dead That Aren't Dead

The killing frosts in December left a lot of blackened sticks behind that used to be sturdy perennials: salvia and sage, geraniums and fuschias. They all looked as dead as dead can be. But I know from experience that a plant that is a certain goner can fool you. So I let them sit there through the winter. Now, along with the rest of the burgeoning growth that is filling the backyard, these plants are reviving. Dead sticks are festooned with green. Above is Salvia elegans. The common name is Pineapple Sage and this particular one is Freida Dixon, a cultivar with pink blossoms.




This one is Salvia chiapensis. At its peak it has stunning bright fuschia blossoms, long and hollow the way hummingbirds like them. Evidently there are hundreds of salvias, some called sages, and all members of the mint family. (Factoid of the day.)




This is another Pineapple Sage, which will eventually have bright red tubular blossoms. It's sprouting from the base. The blackened sticks are about three feet tall and a few have some festoons. It is also festooned with a lady bug, for contrast.




This is a geranium, I don't know what kind.




Another geranium, with a friendly volunteer viola to keep it company.




A fuschia bush coming back strong.

It's not quite time to prune back the damaged parts of these plants. We are not out of the frost zone. I keep reading in the paper about local vintners who are watching their budding grape vines nervously, worried that one of the cold nights we've been having might encase those delicate buds in ice.

There is not as much at stake in our yard of course, but it's still wise to wait.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

In honor of the green, here are the shamrocks by the kitchen door. We had some in salad tonight -- our minor observance of the day. This is actually just some wild oxalis, sour grass, that opportunistically took over this pot and the little plot it sits in. Actually, no-one really knows what the true shamrock might be, according to an article I read in a doctor's waiting room, in an glossy Irish horticultural magazine. Too bad I had to leave it behind before finishing the article.

But here's the gist of it: researchers sent out requests all over Ireland for people to mail in samples of the real and true shamrock. They got a variety of different plants, all having the tri-partite leaves that St. Patrick legendarily used to explain the Trinty. Many of the plants were in the oxalis family, so I rest my case. The true shamrock is the one growing right outside your door.




Another green tribute -- the velveteen hills of Sonoma County, dotted with live oaks. This vista is in walking distance of our house. The new grass has that dizzying green-gold light of early spring.

More Backyard Blooms

The plum blossoms are at their peak, spilling over the yard like a breaking wave. I read once somewhere that Native American peoples named months -- called "moons" in their lunar-based calendar -- after the most important natural feature of the season. I always think of March as the Moon of Plum Blossom Rain. The neighborhood sidewalks are covered with the litter of petals, pink and white, and the backyard is decorated with white confetti floating through the air and landing everywhere.




They float over the garden paths, thick with blooming forget-me-nots.




They drift past the surprise crocus. (Several years ago I planted some in the two clay herb bowls that R. gave me. They never bloomed after the first year. H. showed me how to do close-ups with my camera but the batteries ran out and I wasn't able to capture the open blossom with its yellow center, welcoming the day. Nice close-up though!)

Many plum petals land on the arugula and have to be picked off during salad making. The arugula blossoms, which look like jeweled Celtic crosses, don't fall off but stay where they are, perhaps to stay as beautiful as possible for as long as possible.

Spring Comes to Our Yard

We are finally getting some bloom in our own backyard -- several weeks after the neighborhood streets began to get festive with the new season. Perhaps we don't have quite enough southern exposure to allow for Valentine's Day blossoms. But the plum trees are making up for lost time, decked out in their dainty finery.

Overall, February is a back-and-forth month, mostly chilly, foggy, and rainy with a few glorious breakthrough days. Katherine Grace Endicott's Northern California Gardening gets it mostly right for our little niche: "February is a month of heavy rain and freezing temperatures in much of Northern California. The weather does not beckon gardeners outdoors. There are, however, usually one or two days of false spring -- days so gloriously bright and unseasonably warm that thoughts turn quickly to the garden."

We've certainly had the rain, if not the freezing temperatures. And we've had the glorious day or two of brightness and warmth that didn't seem false at all, and beckoned me right outside to plant a bed or two and admire whatever is in bloom.





The periwinkles are showing a bit of blue.




So are the forget-me-nots.




The arugula is growing like the weed that it is and starting to show off its white blossoms. It's still good for salads, though.

Buds Bursting, Birds Singing

Last weekend, C. and I took a walk through the nature area that runs through the center of a nearby subdivision. I was looking for signs of spring; he was running his own, mostly olfactory, survey. Here he is sniffing the breeze in the middle of a field of buttercups. If we could add little thought balloons to this picture, it would be: Me (off-camera) -- "Ooooh, buttercups. They weren't here last time we came by." C. -- "Four raccoons, six cats, and a dog who is smaller than me passed this way in the last 24 hours. Is this spot in need of marking? I think not."





The nature area is the site of a watershed restoration project. The creek is being brought back to its natural state. I was expecting lots of bloom, but perhaps these native plants have their own style, more subtle than the showy trees along neighborhood streets. Here's how the creek looks in mid-February.




The giant willow by the waterhole where the local kids like to play in warmer weather is starting to leaf out. A delicate greening is the main clue to the advancing season. I noticed lots of fat buds on several different types of trees.





After we got home, I took this photo out the back bedroom window of a robin gorging on ivy berries. There were several of them rustling around and whistling their happiness over a beautiful day in early spring.