Irrepressible Spring

The first 2026 Magnolia stellata

Color is returning to the landscape, foretelling Spring right around the corner, just past another cold spell or two, and along with the cheery garden tones rises the mood of ProfessorRoush.  I'm starting to feel the itch, aren't you?  You know which itch that I'm talking about; the itch to get outside, breathe clear air, feel the sunshine on your skin.  The itch to feel alive.

'Meadowlark' Forsythia

Oh, if only the wind would die down just a little more and the sun would shine just a smidge brighter, and the air would feel just a touch warmer on my cheeks!   I don't feel I'm asking for too much; it is not like I expect yet the soil to be warm and moist as I run my fingers into the ground, or that I am disappointed that the asparagus is not yet bringing forth a fresh crop.  These things will come along in their time.  Right now I just want Paradise: sunny days, gentle breezes, thirst-quenching gentle rains at night, and a gradual transition to Spring.  A return to Eden is the eternal dream of Man.

Dutch Iris & complimentary Siberian Squill

But, alas, these brave early explorers, the precocious first open bloom of Magnolia stellata, the vivid yellow blooms of  'Meadowlark' (Forsythia ovata X Forsythia europaea) and 'Golden Times' Forsythia (Forsythia intermedia 'Golden Times'), the shy grape hyacinths (Muscari sp), and the purple Dutch iris (I think?) complimented by the self-spreading squill, these are, all of them, soon to be punished for their boldness.  They've brought joy and light and color into my world at present, but tomorrow's forecast is for snow and 60 mph sustained winds, a blizzard busting in on my celebration.

Grape Hyacinths

I could rave on and on about the necessity of Forsythia in the Spring landscape, even while the yellow hue of most cultivars is seldom perfectly clean enough for my taste.  I could disclose the nostalgic reasons for maintaining this single clump of grape hyacinths in my garden, the descendants of memories brought with me from my boyhood Indiana home, even as they display the ravages of my fickle Kansas climate.  I could lament the brief  display of the Dutch iris blooms near my front walkway or the foolish waste of  the blushing Star Magnolia bloom, destined tomorrow to be merely a brown shriveled husk, if it can be found at all.

'Golden Times' Forsythia

Nay, I will instead speak here only of the gift and the beauty of these flowers, however fleeting.  They are portents, harbingers of  sunnier days and warmer soil to come.  Promising Spring, they prophesize the awakening of the world, a new season of growth, and the banishment of all forms of ice from our lives.  Blooming now, they call me out into the world, they stir my soul, and they awaken my spirit.  I am forever grateful for these first flowers of Spring.

And....I'm Caught Up.

Just like that, a perfect weekend of weather, and ProfessorRoush has caught up with spring.   There's always something magical about Easter weekend that brings the spring garden together.   Early or late, the plants seem to follow Easter's timing and so, evidently, does ProfessorRoush.  

Other than a few hours low of 25ºF one morning this week, spring has been a lamb this year, gradually warming up to today's 82ºF high and full sunshine, with few frosts or, even worse, late snows to set the plants back.  My Star Magnolia (Magnolia stellata) bloomed perfectly this year, not set back once by the weather and I'm already missing its warm scent.   All of the bulbs are up and out, with daffodils at their peak and the beautiful blue Scilla siberica and blue and white Puschkinia scilloides pictured above and the grape hyacinths to the left have delighted me for a couple of weeks and are just beginning to fade.  Both the Scilla and Puschkinia self-seed and spread here, and I now have Scilla in most of the beds around the house after planting them in only two little spots.  Thankfully, Scilla is easily controlled here, an unusually well-behaved and hardy plant in my garden.   Most plants that thrive in Kansas are rampant thugs, seemingly surviving on an overwhelm-and-kill-the-neighbors' philosophy.

To catch up this weekend, I purchased, transported, and spread over 70 bags of mulch bark in front and back, cut down all the ornamental grasses, fertilized everything  already green including over 100 daylilies, put up new Purple Martin houses, mowed around some early fast-growing edges, cut down the decrepit last-years-thrip-stricken Emerald Gaiety euonymus and sprayed them so they could rejuvenate, removed a 3-year-old dying Japanese maple from the front, spread another dozen hay and straw bales as mulch, sprayed the columbines to prevent Phytomyza aquilegivora (leafminers), planted 50 new strawberry plants and set up the system to water them, and probably did a few smaller chores I can't even remember. 

The photos above and left are of my now cleaned and mulched back bed from two sides, spoiled only by the serpentine hose I used to wet down the mulch (high winds are forecast here for Tuesday.  The prairie is still brown, but you can see the life beginning in my garden beds.  Notice the daffodils blooming here and there, the clumps of daylilies frantically growing, and the peonies coming up?  I can hardly wait for this coming week.   Sometime in the next two days, I'll entertain you with pictures of my 'Ann' and 'Jane' Magnolias, both just coming fully into bloom, and maybe, just maybe, 'Yellow Bird' will show it's pretty face this week.   The several days of recently warm weather has the entire garden growing on steroids right now, with redbuds, lilacs, and tulips all starting to break bud out there as I write this.  My soul is on vibrate mode, excited for a so-far normal spring.  

Front and Back

Blooms are coming fast and freely in ProfessorRoush's garden, with or without the presence of rain or gardener.  I'm in a busy period, home only to sleep and creep out again, glimpses of the garden in daylight if, or when, I'm lucky.  I rush home at end, run outside to meet the setting sun in my garden, today a perfect cooling breeze and light last rays from the far horizon.






In front, driving up the driveway, my eyes are drawn to the perfect clumps of plump Puschkinia sp. that are madly strewn across the front bed.  These lush wanton displays are white from afar, blobs of bright white against the sun-faded mulch, short and flat and full.

Pin-striped from close, each waxy blossom is perfectly adorned with the brush of an undiscovered genius, a perfect blue stripe centered down each petal.  I've written of these before, allayed with the sweetest, most unobtrusive fragrance yet unbottled.  Today the fragrance is far stronger than normal, discernible and satisfying at head height, wafted upwards by the breeze to save my knees.  I swoon, struck steadfast by the scent, grateful and giddy from sheer drifts of olfactory overload.








In back, my sole clump of grape hyacinths, variety lost to time, lifts another fragrance to the nose, this one at once less and more sweet than Puschkinia. The normal proper position to observe a grape hyacinth is most certainly reclined, belly-down on the filthy adjacent patio, nose deep in the blossoms.  Wary today, I cede the territory to the busy bumblebee above, insect blood warmed by sun in its veins, seeking the first meal of the year, a frantic never-ending search for nourishment as nectar.  I don't envy the insect a touch of the grape, satisfied to sample the scent of spring in my own time and fashion.

With luck, and soon rain, the lilacs will burst on the scene in due time, eager to swamp the senses with buxom inflorescence and heavy odor.  Today, Puschkinia and hyacinth lure me in, tomorrow beaten senseless by lilacs.  It's a sensuous life, but somebody's got to live it.