Dabs and Dribbles

'Cole's Red' Quince

Spring, this year, is a fight within our witness, a struggle by life to leave behind the cold winds of February and March and move to sunlight.   There has been no knockout blow, no sudden blitzkrieg of either heat or snow to change the fortunes of garden and man, but the to and fro, the feint and parry, of the seasons continues with no easy end in sight.   We will not see spring, I fear this year, in broad strokes of pastel color, but in dabs and dribbles, slowly meting out its glory in smaller packets of pleasure.

'Betsy Ross'

It is both dry and cool now, continuing the pattern of past weeks and it seems, promising the weather for weeks to come.   The sky has not provided enough moisture to yet ignite the irrepressible forces of life, nor has the sunshine been overly generous with its sustaining energy.   It benefits me little to blame the cheerful weatherpersons for the slow strides towards summer, nor do I deign to fret over the millions proclaimed to be in severe weather danger each day, not while I'd happily risk bad storms to quench the thirst of the ground.  I wait instead, patiently, for these pictured buds to open and clothe the garden and world with beauty.

'Annabelle'

The quince alone is fully open and meeting my lust for rusts and reds, Chaenomeles japonica ‘Coles Red’ in this instance, pictured at the top.   I appreciate quince but it struggles here, the prairie a smidge drier than it likes, the winters and deer a little harsh for its full comfort.  Stronger for us are the lilacs, but they are still biding time this year, afraid perhaps to fully commit lest a late snow or freeze catches them in full exposed blossom.  It would not, of course, be the first time I've seen snow on lilac panicles.  Naked and afraid, 'Betsy Ross', above, and 'Annabelle', here, are providing only a glimpse still of the promising maidens they could become.  One night in the next 10 is presently predicted to be below freezing, so I am content in this instance to indulge their teasing and patiently await their full exhibition.

In similar fashion, the red horsechestnut leaves remain tightly furled, the rough, prehistoric texture safe from frost and marauding deer, and my beloved red peach is mightily trying, but failing, to become a beacon of spring for the neighbors.   It is covered, as you see below, in buds, but yet to glow, the cloudy skies and brisk winds battling against its nature, its reason for survival, those buds to become seeds, those seeds to be trees.

Red Peach

And so, I wait here, still wait this Easter, for the annual rebirth, the rebound of the world.  With Easter comes promise, a guarantee of life's return, a revival, not promised this year perhaps in trumpeted herald, but softly spoken in dabs and dribbles.  Regardless, I close singing in full voice along with Sara Evans, her lyrics:  "Hallelujah, a little revival....amen to love."

Excuse My Untidyness

Finally, finally, finally, a small start to spring.   I found this first Magnolia stellata bloom on April 1st, and today on April 10th the bush is starting to look at least midway to peak bloom.   Late, but luscious, I inhaled all the musky scent this flower could give me as I dreamed of more to come.

You'll have to excuse me for the straggly appearance of this brazen forsythia, in full flower finally today on April 10th.  I have at 5 different cultivars of Forsythia out in the garden ('Spring Glory', 'Meadowlark', 'Show Off', an unknown gift shrub, and several 'Golden Tines') and this single 'Golden Tines' is the only one to bloom with any show this year.  Why this one?   The others are straggly at best, almost barren at worst, so thank God for this front and center golden jewel.    Yes, I didn't trim it last fall, didn't remove the long shoots of late summer, for I planned to bring those inside and force bloom this spring.   Obviously, the cold and winter doldrums kept me from following through on that well-intentioned plan.   And I'm ashamed of the unclean bed around the forsythia;  I just haven't gotten even the front landscape bed ready yet for spring.

While I do hope for a bold yellow forsythia bloom each spring, I'm never surprised when the "pink forsythia", Abeliophyllum  distichum ‘Roseum’ blooms only sparsely and briefly,  This year it lived down to my expectations, barely attempting any blooms and showing none of its usual pink blush, white fragility in the flesh.  I've had this shrub for 13 years, so it is hardy here, but certainly not vigorous and it hardly provides any show, early bloomer that it is.   It was already at peak bloom here, on April 1st this year, and already nearly barren as it yields to the rest of the garden.  Sweetly scented if you get close, Abeliophyllum is a distraction for me, the earliest shrub to flower and the only one until the M. stellata gets going.  I keep it for that reason, something for my soul to grasp onto as I desperately wait spring.

Despite my earlier whining, my Puschkinia finally did bloom, shown here in a front bed near the edge where it begs you to bend over and look closer.  Alongside the Scilla, it raises my spirts for a few weeks as I drive home for work each day, right by the garage pad where it can catch my glimpse and welcome me home.

Closeup 'Abeliophyllum distichum'

Outside today, it's warm at least, climbing about 70ºF, but yet I'm not outside clearing beds or doing useful work.   The wind, a southern wind, is moving along at a brisk 20mph pace and I just don't feel like fighting it with every step I take.   No, I'll stay mostly inside today, waiting fitfully for the lilacs and redbuds to begin the real spring season.   My redbuds are slowly showing some color in their buds, but they are reluctant to join in yet to the seasonal celebration.  For reference, in my seasonal notes going back to 2004, the daffodils and Puschkinia were behind this year, while the redbuds are even with some years, behind others, but only in the very cold spring of 2008 did they definitely bloom later than this year.   So, I'd say that we are late, but catching up.   Too slowly, however, for my taste.  My father always says it won't be spring until Easter and with the late Easter this year, once again, he's right on target.

Behold the Lamb

Easter arrived at last, a rebirth of spirit and earth that is long overdue this year.  March came in like a lion, went out like one, and winter continued into April here in Kansas, more overnight freezes in the forecast and a chance for snow predicted tonight.   The closest thing to a Lamb evident in my garden this week was the small, peaceful concrete fawn that graces my viburnum bed.  I found it last week, half-buried under a year of debris, and laid it on this nice new bed of straw for comfort.  There perhaps, watched over and aided by the last daffodils of the season, it can tempt the weather to act more like springtime before the furnaces of summer fire up.

We began to at least pretend it was spring here this week by burning the prairie, our annual ritual here of welcoming warmer weather and clearing the fields for growth.  My neighbors and I got together Friday and burned in mass, teams spread out on the periphery to protect the town from our exuberance and teams within to protect our homes from ourselves.  This year's burn started out on a cold morning at 35ºF but rose to 60º temperatures by midday and it was a fine burn, windless when we were burning the edges and a mild breeze when we wanted the fire to sweep across the barren grasses.  You can see the result here, a few piles of donkey dung continuing to smolder long after the fire was out elsewhere.  Donkeys repeatedly pile their digested offerings in discrete places rather than sprinkling it over the area like bovines, so theses piles often burn slowly into the night, appearing as stars glowing on the dark prairie during windy times.  Sometimes we combine the prairie burning ritual with a sacrifice, usually of a random shrub, fruit tree, or 4-wheeler caught in the fires, but this year we got away almost clean, with the only casualty a late-afternoon singeing of a bridge at the neighboring golf course.

I was pleased, during my rounds of the grounds after the fires, to see that my secret small grove of redbuds in the bottom had not suffered the late freezes of the ones adjacent to my hilly home.  This little group sprang up volunteer a few years ago in a low area protected by the upwards slope to the south and the temperature-moderating pond just to the north.  I encourage them yearly by mowing down the grasses to limit competition and very controlled burning of the area to eliminate the cedar invaders.  Despite their precarious exposure to the elements, the deer, and rodents, they've done well, and I appreciate their kindness by blooming here in this little hidden world of my heart.



Within the house, spring is at least trying to overcome winter.  Appropriate for Easter, this white orchid began to bloom in our sunroom this week.  I apologize for the reminder of winter in the still-blooming Christmas Cactus behind it, but the purity and beauty of the orchid embraced by the warmth captured by the south-facing windows tells me that Easter, as always, foretells rebirth and the arrival of more tranquil days to come.

Life Renewed

ProfessorRoush had prepared a profound plum of gardening philosophy for you to ponder today. However, the accompanying photo, of 'Yellow Bird' Magnolia, newly displaying a perfect yellow hue and partially escaping from its protective cage, is substantially more appropriate to represent the deliverance and rebirth of the season of Passover and Easter today.  Happy Easter 2017, Everyone.

(PS:  For those of both a Christian and Country bent, my brother-in-law introduced me to the song Outskirts of Heaven by Craig Campbell.  Take a listen on this sunny Easter day.)

Renewal

Friends, I knew that we had a long, hard winter here, but I didn't know how exactly how hard it was until my normal spring chores came around to my "formal rose bed."  You can see it below and then from a different angle, just after cleanup, open and bare, ready to begin new growth again.

It has been years since this bed looked so bare, so lacking of the beauty within.  It probably hasn't looked this way since I first planted it, over 10 years ago.  In most years of late, as Zone 6B has moved up to our region, I've given most of these roses a mere trim with a hedge trimmer, leaving 3-5 foot bushes throughout the garden.  Only one or two Hybrid Teas get a regular scalping, and sometimes even 'Tiffany' or 'First Prize' stays at the 3-foot level.  This year, however, most every rose was either growing back completely from the roots or had only spotty growth higher on the bush.  I could hear them whispering.  "Renew us."  "Help us."

Many of the 50+ roses in this bed are cane hardy to at least Zone 4, so that really tells me what our winter was like.  The remaining tall roses of the picture are 'Therese Bugnet', 'John Franklin', 'Martin Frobisher'  'Earthsong', 'Variegata di Bologna', 'Red Moss', 'Leda', 'Blush Hip', and 'Coquette de Blanche'.  Notice that most of these are either Canadian Roses or Old Garden Roses.

As for the chopped off group, they're a varied lot of fame.  Two English roses, 'Golden Celebration' and 'The Dark Lady'.  About eight Griffith Buck roses went down, including 'Prairie Harvest' and 'Autumn Sunset'.  'Sally Holmes' and 'Lady Elsie May' became midgets, along with two Bailey Roses including 'Hot Wonder and 'High Voltage'.  Even two Canadian roses, 'Winnepeg Park' and 'Morden Fireglow', got burr cuts.

I would be upset at the winter kill, but, to be truthful, this wholesale destruction needed to happen anyway.  The bushes here were tangled and overgrown, some of them massive things that were shading out more delicate neighbors.  And, in the end, it is fitting that the renewal of this garden took place on the eve of Easter.  What better day to ready oneself and one's garden for a new beginning?