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.

Two Weeks Later....

Two weeks later...and spring feels barely farther along that it was.   Oh, there are subtle signs; an early daffodil or two, lilac buds swelling green from their previous hard brown shell, a glimmer of action in the sprouting of daylilies.   But here we are March 27th, a week past the equinox, and the best that my Star Magnolia can conjure up is this single bud at the top of the bush, partially open and singed from the last frost.  That magnolia scent though, that sweet musky odor, was already present as long as I was willing to chance my nose into the bud.  And I was (willing). 

Dressing later to go to a movie, I splashed on a little aftershave and later, smelling it on my hand, I realized for the first time that the Brut® that I've used all my life has a strong aromatic resemblance to magnolia musk.  Musky, earthy, heavy, the scent of magnolia reaches deep into my id and presumably that of others.  Not stupid those aromacologists, those noses that know the attraction of certain fragrances.  Males of my generation shy away from sweet flowery scents, but throw a little musky magnolia scent my way and they have a customer for life.  Well, that, and that's what my father always used.  Shades of Oedipus, is that heritage from a generation ago the reason for the long survival of that brand in a crowded market?  Is America and civilization-as-we've-known-it safe as long as Brut® sells well at Christmas?

This French Pussy Willow 'Curly Locks' (Salix caprea) is also ready to open up and have its early way with the gardeners affections, but it, too, is late and slow to reach the climax of its bloom period.  As I search my records, there was only one year in the last 10 that Magnolia stellata first bloomed this late.  Most years, on March 26th it reaches peak bloom and it has bloomed as early as March 6th.  Similarly, in most years, forsythia is already blooming well and this year it shows no signs of breaking dormancy.  I wish I could tell you the normal initial bloom date of the Pussy Willow, but sadly, I've seldom noticed or written it down.  Please do as I say and not as I do and be consistent in the plants you keep notes on annually.   For me, the only consistency is the Scilla and the Star Magnolia, both because of their timing and their annual show.

There are other signs of spring life on the prairie, however, and most notably the spring burns have started.  I took this picture yesterday as I arrived home from errands standing on the garage pad looking west.   Many times, I see these tall clouds of smoke billowing when I'm leaving work or on the east side of town and I'm calculating where these clouds lie in relation to my own house, praying that the neighbors haven't gotten out of hand.  This one, however is far away, on the hills to the southwest of town, near the airport, 4 or 5 miles away as a crow would fly.  Prairie fires always strike a little fear in my heart, but they provide comfort too, comfort that the world is normal and spring approaches once again.

Vainly Searching

By "vainly searching", ProfessorRoush means that he is searching futilely, fruitlessly for spring, not that I'm boasting or conceited or vain about my search.  We had the largest snow of the year last week, on March 9th, 5 inches of snow that fell overnight and melted completely away under the 69ºF temperatures of today.  At least we received the moisture, badly needed moisture that will start the prairie grasses under the path to summer.  But most things are buttoned up tight, the lilacs showing no hint of green under their hard buds, and even Magnolia stellata, pictured at the right, shows no signs of spring, the fragrant flowers still tightly cloistered within the hairy buds.

In the garden, I had to search a long time for any sign of spring at all.   Not even the snow crocus have yet made any appearance that I've detected.  I can only share these first sky-blue buds and yellow shoots of Scilla, just breaking the surface on the sunniest and warmest slope in my garden.  There are a few brave daffodil fronds pushing up here and there, but no peonies, no Dutch crocus, no Puschkinia.  Nothing but the squill to assure me that spring is coming or that the Earth has succesfully made it once again all the way around its star.

All of this is to say that I think spring will be late this year, or at least start up closer to average.   In 2012, I found the first Scilla blooming on March 7th.  In 2016 it was March 6th and the Star magnolia was blooming along with it on that date.  We are going to be later this year than earlier, compared to my notes of the past two decades on this spot of ground.  

So, I have only the garden of my mind at present, and this week it was outwitting squirrels.   No, I don't mean I have a squirrel infestation here at the end of winter, I am referring to Anne Wareham's Outwitting Squirrels (and Other Garden Pests and Nuisances).   I learned of the book on Garden Rant, where it was noted that it's not available in the US at present.   But, Amazon, came through with a paperback copy for me last week and I've been learning about "Weeds You Don't Want", and ridding my garden of cats.   Anne, thank you for a delightful, humorous, and easy read, short quick chapters in an older text of yours (2015), but new to me.   It brought me one week closer to spring.