What's Blooming Now

Daffodils are almost over, 

Hellebores are in full swing:

Pansies brighten up the pots,  

Foliage is king.  

Summer Snowflake is confused: it's not even spring!

Camellias brighten up the shade,

I wonder what next week will bring?

What's Happening Now

Many years ago a woman asked me to walk thru her garden with her and consult.  I knew she was tightly wrapped, but I didn't know how bad it was until I saw her hellebores.  Every single one had been stripped of all its leaves, and the flowers looked naked and embarrassed.  I hate people who torture their plants.  And I wonder about people who are that tightly wrapped.

Reminded me of a Beverly Nichols piece on consulting on a garden.  After a very rushed cup of tea the wife walked him around, and shot down every suggestion for improvement (and trust me, there was a lot of room for improvement) with  "Oh no, Mr Gardener (or what ever the hell his name was) would never stand for that.  He is quite attached to his (fill in the blank - fishpond, hideous rock pile, or what ever ugliness was under discussion at the moment).  

As Mr Nichols was leaving, the husband made an appearance and asked about their progress.  

"I gather you have some strong opinions about what is to be done in the garden..." Beverly Nichols said to the husband.

"Who, me?  No, I don't care if she bulldozes or floods the whole damn thing.  What ever makes her happy!"

Truth will out.

The hellebores are saving my garden.  The freeze made straw of the grasses and the geraniums, the forget-me-nots and the Icelandic poppies - thankfully the forget-me-nots and the poppies have recovered.  Mostly.  And the daffodils are starting (and the paperwhites of course) but they are a bit simple.  I have been cutting them for the table - I have resolved to have flowers from the garden on the breakfast table every day we are home.  Check with me in August, but so far so good.

But it is the hellebores that make me smile.

I don't understand them as cut flowers.  Some stems last forever, some wilt immediately.  In the same vase.  From the same plant. At the same stage of growth.  But in the garden, they have won my heart.

They bloom when the weather is bleak (except for this year, when we could use a little bleak weather and none is coming).  They have volunteered in the gravel, where hellebores are not supposed to grow.  Pink and white together.

The whites light up the shade.

The dark pinks charm, shyly nodding their heads.

Their cups are beautiful, pink and green with shaggy stamens.  

Each plant is a mass of flowers, the leaves nearly obscured.

Some hybridizer must be working on getting them to hold their heads up - just like the guy who bred the Stargazer lily, the first lily to face up not down.  But for now, they all nod.

Did you know that before the Stargazer all lilies hung their heads? There is a myth about why lilies do this, something about Christ and being ashamed.  But gardening is full of myths (remember the guy who puts salt on his iceplant?  It's in my book) - and few of them are founded in fact.  

There is a new hellebore this winter, a seedling.  It has appeared in two places, and I hope it will be happy and stay.  It's called picotee when the edges are a different color.  I call it cheerful and am happy it's in my garden.  All by itself.  

What's blooming in your garden?  

 

"What's blooming in your garden?" my friend from the frozen east asked me, a note of despair in her voice.  

"I'm afraid I'll find out in the spring that my entire garden is dead - deep freeze frozen.  And I'm stuck in the house for days - the garden is under a mountain of snow."

I forget that most of the country doesn't have paper whites for Halloween, hellebores for Christmas, roses by May Day.  So I took my tea and my camera and went out.  

There were hellebores, from dark pink... 

...to fresh green and white.  

If they would only hold their heads up they'd be the perfect flower. 

I paid a fortune a few years ago for an almost black hellebore. While it would give me bragging rights (if I cared), as a flower it's a bust.  Not very vigorous, the flowers are so dark you can't see them in the garden.  Or in the house.  Unless you have your nose in them.  And a flashlight. They hang down in the garden, they disappear in the dark of the house. But Sloat Nursery has some fabulous double hellebores in all shades of white and pink, and one  white one that holds its head up...I may need to go shopping.

I finally found the right quince - the one I wrote about in Postcards From The Hedge.  the one from my childhood.

The bush is still tiny, and of course the flowers are all on the bottoms of the branches.  I don't want to cut even one piece.  I'm going to feed it like crazy this year and hope I can cut a few twigs next year.  And a whole big bouquet sometime in my lifetime.

Pansies spill over pots planted with daffodils planted cheek-by-jowl (but not yet not yet awake).

When the daffodils bloom they will come up thru the pansies, it's a party in a pot.  And when I put them in the garden the pansies will warn me not to dig there.  No more smashed bulbs.  

Paperwhites have been blooming since before Halloween.  I love the smell; my mom thinks they smell awful.  My sister tells me it's genetic.  Apparently my mom is more evolved.  No surprise there.

Under the orange tree are the true violets, their flowers nestled beneath the leaves.  

You have to hunt for them, but they're worth it.  Bring some in and they will perfume a room.  And speaking of perfume...

...the daphne is about to pop.  A sprig of this deserves a place on your bedside table.  I love waking up to its sweet lemony smell.  It reminds me winter will be over someday.  Hopefully not until we've had some rain.  

Summer snowflakes bobble on thin stalks.  Obviously someone is confused about the season - it's not summer - but I am happy to have their cheery green-tipped flowers.  And happy they are seeding about the garden.  Not dead-heading has its advantages.  I wouldn't try it with roses, but it's a huge success with Leucojum.  And hellebores.  I have a forest of seedlings.  Bring your trowel.

And of course there are daffodils.  Hooray for the daffodils!

I went back later with pruning shears and made little bouquets all over the house.  In the bathroom.  Beside my bed.  Next to the kitchen sink.  By the chair where I read.

Beverly Nichols said the best garden is one where there is something in bloom every month.  He gardened in England and just managed it - iris reticulata was his saving grace in winter.  I garden in California and there is something in bloom every day. I can't take credit for that; we have better weather.  

He was a far better gardener, and a fabulous writer.  If you haven't read him, you're in for a treat.  Especially if you live somewhere that's currently frozen.  If you can get to the bookstore, these are books better held in the hand.  Wonderful line drawings, lovely quotes, beautifully typeset.  But if you have to Kindle them, go ahead.  You can buy the real thing later - and you will want to buy them.  And gift them.  And read them - again and again.