My yard doesn't tend to have colour in all seasons, primarily just in spring. But this year I'm up at the church for 8-9 weeks, so I haven't been able to be there to enjoy all the blooms.
Lovely Son #2 posted pictures for me today so I could see what's happening back home. Wasn't that sweet?
Up at the church, the front beds have suddenly burst into life. I've never seen such healthy ferns! I didn't know they were there, since we bought this place in the fall when things had died back. I am rethinking my plan to put a bench there. I'm also glad that I haven't planted the vegetable garden at home yet -- it's going down to 3 degrees tomorrow.
Last night the neighbours lit up the sky with some pretty spectacular fireworks. Joyful noise! The dogs in the area didn't like it, though. Brio curled up tight against me and kept letting out little puffs -- half breath, half woofs -- of displeasure. I should watch the Young Victoria today.
An invitation to follow along on my other blog as the renovation progresses up at the church:
https://buyingachurch.blogspot.com/
This morning I wanted to share my son's Facebook page (with his permission). He is the horticulturist at a nearby golf and country club, and he has the delightful job of creating a beautiful, vibrant, colourful space for people to play in. Isn't that just the best job ever?
I don't know if the link below will work -- I'm the least tech-minded person I know -- but this is the address as well:
You know how you get "group" names for various animals, like a Murder of Crows or a Gaggle of Geese? I think it should be a Cacophony of Cardinals. Inside the church where I'm staying, the walls are thick and I don't hear much from outside. But when I open the door at 5 a.m. to let the dog out, I'm blasted with the piercing polyphonic barrage of bird song. We especially seem to have a disproportionate number of cardinals, and they are loud. It's like nature's alarm clock, warming up first with a few tentative robin calls, like the orchestra tuning up, and then wham, they all let loose. I can hear some roosters getting into the game, too, from somewhere. There's no going back to bed once you've heard it -- I may not hear it from indoors, but how can you go back to sleep knowing there's all that life going on out there?
Our daughter-in-law told us about a nearby beach, so we went to explore this lovely place yesterday. We're allowed to leave our homes for outdoor exercise, so we figured this counted. Stretches of perfect, fine sand. Children running wild, babies paddling in up to their knees, dogs delirious with joy as they bounced through the waves. The sun was hot, the breeze just right, the sky vivid. That undefinable scent of water. And lucky me, to be here! Life couldn't be better. I don't even care if we don't get to Hawaii as planned in September. This will more than suffice.
They announced yesterday that the stay-at-home order will likely be extended into June, instead of ending May 20 as hoped. So my planned 1-2 week stay at the church is turning into 9-10 weeks. When I came up, it was still snowing. When I finally go home, it will be a bit late for planting the vegetable garden, and I'm sure the whole yard will have been taken over by weeds and baby maple trees. Nature reverts very quickly back to the wild when you aren't watching. My growing season may be quite short this year!
I hadn't realized how integral planting the vegetable garden is to my year. I can't get a proper sense of the seasons if I'm not following my 30+-year routine of planning, weeding, hoeing, fertilizing, planting, thinning, weeding, watering, harvesting, bottling, weeding, mulching. My pre-purchased seeds are waiting in the cupboard, and I don't know if they'll get planted. Maybe I should just mulch it all over and let it lie fallow until next year, when surely things will be better! I feel adrift in spring, unable to let it really get underway because my rituals are gone. I must practise being in the now, letting go of habits, and just enjoying the season for itself instead of for what it usually brings me.
I took Brio for a walk yesterday to the little local lake. The sky was almost supernaturally blue, the clouds white and puffy like a child's drawing of clouds, the air cool, the sunshine warm on my skin like syrup. I may not be able to get my hands in the soil, but I can smell the damp earth and the tang of pine. I may not have a plot to tend, but I can enjoy the wild geraniums, violets, and forget-me-nots growing everywhere under the trees. Maybe this year, it's enough to just be in God's garden.
Someone near our church has ten beautiful crabapple trees. It lightens the spirit and gladdens the heart just to walk past them. I did manage to refrain from bursting into song, though.
