Brave Little Warriors

 A warm couple of late February weeks teased this early single daffodil out into the open in my back patio bed yesterday.  Foolish little one, I could have told you this warm sunlight wouldn't last, for I, an apex consumer and representative of a species that has some grasp of weather patterns, knew the coming forecast calls for a cold snap, a light snow, and several days of cold rain.  And this afternoon, I sit cozily indoors, writing in this blog, while rain patters on the adjacent window and you shiver in the back yard.

The courageous daffodil above has many brethren nearby who weren't so brave, weren't so foolish with their lives and resources, and they conserved their time and effort, comfortable to delay and follow the crowd; individuals not, but safe in number.  They won't be first in line for pollination or growth, but their patience may yet be rewarded by the chance to procreate and spread.  At least they will be growing and blooming in less-dry ground, nourished by the Spring rains we have coming.

Outside too, this Winter Jasmine, Jasminium nudiflorum, is beginning to bloom, this southern-most-exposed clump blooming while a greater mass behind it waits for warmer weather.  I don't recall where or when I purchased this plant, but, come February when it blooms earlier than anything else in Kansas, I'm ecstatic once again that I have it.  I don't know much about this plant, but its hardiness and tendency to form local clumps suggests to me that in the right conditions, it could be invasive.  Here, restrained by winter droughts and drastic climate changes, I'm just happy to see it survive each winter.

And inside, this Amaryllis I showed you in the last blog is just outdoing itself in abundance, spreading joy through my little world.  The morning sunlight behind the blooms really highlights their happy-go-lucky orange-ness, don't you think?   This is the sight that greats me each morning as I feed Bella, and every day it gives me strength and promises me the sun and warmth will come back yet another season.  I go off to work with its memory daily, clutching this picture in my mind while I wait for Spring.

Hello March!

My, my.  Already beginning the third month of the year and ProfessorRoush has not, until today, touched a single finger to keyboard on behalf of this blog.  I've not been so absent from these pages since, well since before I began to blog, 14 years past, and yet, I feel only a minuscule degree of remorse or indolence.

It was a brutal winter here in Kansas, my friends; a monstrous, cruel, merciless season ruled by snow and ice and wind that drove, until this week, all thoughts of my garden and any plans for spring from my mind.  Central Kansas received several one-in-a-decade snows, with one early January beast dropping 15 inches here, the 4th deepest snowfall on record, shutting down transportation for days and burying the garden in drifts that took nearly a month to completely disappear.  Add on a week of continual below-zero Fahrenheit temperatures in mid-February and an absolute low of -15ºF one night, and I wonder if there will even be a garden this year.  

My garden today is nearly lifeless, and its focal points are now garden ornaments laid flat by blizzards (at top), still-red canes of roses that show no signs yet of revival (above), and the tight buds of dormant lilacs, however promising the latter may be (at right). I haven't begun my traditional garden-bed-clearing, at least two weeks later now than normal, but then, the garden itself is at least 3 weeks behind its normal patterns.  

Winter Jasmine

There are a couple bits of evident life out there, however.   I found a lonely, yet bright, spot of singular sunshine with two adjacent unabashedly bright yellow blooms at the base of a south-exposure-oriented clump of Winter Jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum), as pictured at left.  Also, several daffodil clumps can be found timidly poking out of the still-frozen ground, brave, yet foolhardy, pioneers into the 2025 growing season (below).   That's it at present.  No Puschkinia, no White Forsythia, not even a single hint of Scilla (which bloomed last year, according to my notes, on February 24th!).

Daffodils!

weeds! (aarrggg!)

I'm currently choosing to overlook the weeds, as they do as weeds do, madly bursting forth everywhere in a fervid attempt to cover any bare ground and reproduce.  There is never rest for a gardener, and the endless wars of order versus chaos continue with renewed vigor each spring. 

As I wrote these few paragraphs, taking longer-than-normal because evidently I'm out-of-practice (and apparently subconsciously going for a hyphenation record here today), I can testify that, glancing to my left out the window, I was thrilled to see a bright blue male bluebird flitting about the front garden, likely fresh from his migration flight and ready to choose a nest and mate. 

Blest be ye, Bluebird, and blest be thy brood as the days begin to warm.