Saturday Stroll

Some pretty things from this morning's stroll. I'm thrilled our freeze warning was a false alarm and all our tender plants are doing fine. Most of these lovelies are blooming three weeks ahead of schedule. I took almost this same series of pictures April 30, 2009. You'd think I'd be done taking the same pictures every year, but apparently not. I can think of worse ways to waste my time.

Speaking of wasting time, I'm officially unemployed on April 20 and I'm looking forward to being unscheduled for a little while. From the time I decided to stop working, to the time it took me to officially resign to choosing an end date, well it took longer than I thought it would.

I've got a half dozen projects around the house to finish, my boy's graduation to celebrate, my mother visit to prepare for, and I'm chomping at the bit to have my Monday through Friday back, and relieved to stop driving 200 miles a week. I've decided to take a little break, enjoy my family this summer and then begin the new job search in earnest in the fall, when the boy is off the college and the girl back to high school. It feels like the right plan for me right now.

Hope all your plans are going as planned and your Spring is full of sunshine and lovely things too.

In the blink of an eye...

I wish I could slow down Spring and watch it in slow motion, rewind, pause, and make it last longer. I am greedy that way. I've been doing what I do every May - taking an insane amount of pictures, fighting with my digital point and shoot camera, trying to catch what I'm seeing so I can look at it some more. I keep all my pictures archived on my hard drive by date, partly so I can compare variations in bloom time over the years.I used to keep one of those garden journals, but photos are my shorthand these days. I guess this is what retired lab geeks must do with their spare brain capacity, so I can know that the lovely yellow-green narcissus bud from my last post bloomed in all it's glory last week, May 1st to be exact.

Last year, April 15th:

2009, April 30:

2008, May 1st:

And so on. I think there might be a trend with the two week back and forth thing, but I didn't look back any farther. I've lived here 14 years and I never cease to be amazed and surprised by what will and won't grow here, and how different and yet the same each year can be.

Anyhow, I've been wallowing in this Spring, begging it to slow down, just like every year. I can take all the pictures I want, nature doesn't care. She just marches on in her mysterious ways.

Here are a few more pretty things that had made me happy since my last post, some wild or native, some cultivated, all loved.

It's almost too much isn't it?

Every time I snap pictures like this, I hear a voice in my head, from the finale of one of my favorite shows, Six Feet Under, where Nate's ghost tells his sister Claire who takes one last photo of her family before she leaves home to start her life:  You can't take a picture of this, it's already gone. 

Maybe so. But still we try to, don't we?

Finally, here are two things I love most, my babies all grown up on Mother's Day.

Now I really, really wish I had a pause and rewind button for my life!

Hope something lovely is growing and blooming where ever you are.

p.s.

If you want to hear the wisdom of Nate, it's on the video link at the bottom of the page, 2:16.
I miss that show.

Early Spring & Vitamin D Therapy

This year, the ferns are up two weeks earlier than last year; the trilliums three weeks earlier. One more night of frost warning and I think we're in the clear. I am astonished that the lightning struck oak is budding out. Shows you what I know about just how much bark cover a tree needs to survive. It's going to be tough going for him, I'm sure of that. Why do I think he's a boy? I'm not sure, and a botanist could tell me what kind of oak he is, which I forgot, and if oaks have sexes, and maybe he's a girl because of all the acorns this fall. The old me would have googled it and been sure. The new me is just glad to watch the drama unfold. I am happy beyond description that the redbuds I planted in Dad's memory are budding out, I thought this winter did them in. Again, shows you what I know, which isn't much.
Here are some pictures of the woodland floor and pretties in my yard for you to enjoy.

In Flux

The bones of this decaying leaf nestled on lush cozy moss caught my eye. I got down low to look and listen.

I've heard the woods come to life before, two years ago, the first warm evening of Spring. I stood outside, on the edge of the woods with my puppy on a quiet night. From everywhere came a tiny rustling under the leaves, and at first my monkey brain registered fear, visualizing spiders, snakes, voles, creepy crawlies crawling toward me. The forest floor was alive with crinkling leaves. Curiosity overcame fear and I began to question, to look for the source of the noise. What could there be that many of, moving in unison? Crickets? No, because I would see them, and they would be chirping. What then? I walked further into the trail, got down low and listened carefully. It was not a march but an uprising. I was listening to the forest wildflowers breaking through the fallen leaves, pushing them aside, or poking right through them in a glorious awakening. The sun had warmed the earth just enough and they used every last bit of its energy to rise up and break through. I used a little stick to lift up the deepest layers of leaves, and there they were, just crowning the soil's surface. Trillium, Jack in the pulpit, ferns, soloman's seal, virginia creeper, all crinkling and crackling to life in the dark, hoping to break free in time to face the morning sun. My senses tingled, not from fear but in awe. I stayed there a while, until the evening chill and the puppy brought me back inside. But I listened, and payed homage to the amazing forces that surround me, to the miracle of the seasons and to the wonder of hearing it happen. I felt a part of everything.

I try to find that night every year now. It will be soon. Very soon.

On this day, amidst the riot of bird song, I heard a little crinkling beneath the leaves, and spotted this new arrival. The leaf hopper was sitting atop a dead leaf, collecting warmth, with no new leaves to hop yet in March. I think this early warm spell might doom him if a bird doesn't eat him first.




This hole in my oldest hickory tree fascinates me. I wonder who shelters in there, maybe squirrels or chipmunks. The decaying oaks house owls and hawks. Somewhere a lone opossum makes its home. I wonder what shape I'll see in it this time. Somedays it looks like an old woman, which is how I think of the tree. She is the mother of half the trees in my woods. Very fertile. I wonder what you see when you look at this hole where her first limb used to be.

And saving the best for last, my favorite Spring bulbs are up.