My garden is presently divided into rooms. Some are fairly well-kept, some are being refurbished, and alas, there are some on which the door had better be kept shut.
But everywhere I look, the scene is lush with fresh shades of green: lime, olive, emerald, forest, apple, bronze, blue. In a single week the garden has transformed. A week ago, I could stand at my back door and see perfectly clearly the Carrot Lady‘s house. Now, the trees have exploded into leaf; the thin scruff of volunteer trees and shrubs separating our gardens actually resembles the woodland it once was, and I can tell that there is a house there, but only just. Peering through the thicket, I see the carrots are still there on the lawn.
Closer to my house is the new rain garden. It is nearly finished, and I am well pleased with it if I do say so. The plants are filling in nicely as the days grow warmer and brighter.
The daffodils have finished blooming but their foliage remains fresh, upright, and vigorous; there are large sweeps of them, so if I allow my eyes to lose focus, I can pretend it is the grassy meadow of my dream garden. Unfurling hostas mask the dried leaves of the crocus. The bluebells are in top form. Delicate Smilacina racemosa likes its new home, apparently; already it stretches taller today than in has in years. Ferns unroll like a yogi stretching her spine, and iris of all varieties lift their faces to the sun as if they, too, thought this winter carried on a bit too long.
Dogwood (Cornus florida), azalea, Aquilegia, Solomon’s seal, Trillium, Dianthus, Spanish lavender, Campanula, all in bloom. Epimedium, celandine poppy. Euphorbia. Deutzia.
Dicentra eximia, the native bleeding heart, pops up behind a camellia. It was a volunteer last year. Now there are two. There are buds on my ‘Sarah Bernhardt’ peony; a fat ant gathers their sweet nectar. Buds are also forming on the gardenias in the back of the garden. My first rosebuds are forming. Aphids have found them.
Rain last night reduced the sheet of pollen to streaks caught in the veins of leaves. I can open my windows again.
The weeks between mid-April and, say, June 1 are my favorites. Everything is in bloom but nothing is yet exhausted from the heat that truly bears down on us, sucking the water out of the soil and the vigor out of our bodies.
Looking up, I see blue sky behind pale green leaves. Birds chase one another from branch to branch. Squirrels demonstrate their usual delirium. I know how they feel.