Spring Has Sprung

"Spring has sprung, the grass has riz

I wonder where the flowers is?"

It's a family tradition to recite that poem in spring, the origin of the tradition and the author of the poem lost in time.  And what a spring this is!  Cool overcast mornings, perfect for a cup of tea and a trip around the garden to collect a bouquet.  Warm afternoons when I swear you can actually see the flowers opening.  Cool evenings, the hummingbirds dive-bombing and the acorn woodpeckers squabbling on the feeders.

 So for my friends who are shivering under a blanket of snow, here's what's blooming in my garden now. 

Crabapples are at their peak, the hot pink buds opening into the most delicate white flowers,

 Elizabeth, the yellow magnolia, her flowers brilliant against the blue sky (unless you get up too early as I did and the sky is still grey ...)

Pink jasmine coats the fence, and perfumes my bedroom.

Lemons spill their sweet scent, the trees covered with fruit and flowers at the same time.  Go figure.

 The last of the narcissus are nodding near the birdbath,

their yellow made stronger by the contrast of the Spanish bluebells.

 Ian's peach tree is full of promise.  If we get any water, I predict a bumper crop.  Big if.

Chinodoxa have spread into a low blue carpet,

 Primrose and forget-me-nots have happily seeded together

 The white wisteria on the side of the garage smells like the Orient - sweet, sandalwoody, exotic.

Heuchera and forget-me-nots carpet the shade,

 and there are so many blooms on the loropetalum it's almost boring...almost.

And the weird red cones of the melianthus major stand out against its toothed grey leaves.  You would think something that looks this butch would be tough, and deer resistant.  

You would be wrong.

I know I'll be sad when it's baking hot and there is no water, and I will think with envy of those friends who garden where it rains in summer.   But right now?  Right now it's glorious, and I am so happy.

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 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.

Green

I live in a place where it is green in the winter and spring, and brown in the summer. Sounds weird to my East Coast friends whose lawns are brown or under snow. It has its benefits - we don't get rain in the summer. It has it's bad points - it's brown in summer. Today there's a break in the rain and it's especially green.

I went out to see what's blooming. 

Loropetalum Plum Delight, the Chinese Fringe Flower...

Summer snowflakes seem a bit confused about the season...

Daffodils of all sorts spangle the shade under the old oak...

The King Alfred all died out but these guys are happily multiplying.

A pair of crabapples cheer the kitchen window...

I can't grow most primroses (too hot and dry in summer) but I can grow bergenia,

and columbine,

Lemon scented daphne...

...and the sweetest Parma violets.

It's too pretty to stay inside. Ally and I are going for a walk.