“Let us decide on the route that we wish to take to pass our life, and attempt to sow that route with flowers.”
— Madame du Chatele via The Happiness Project
I’M NOT SURE I EVER ACTIVELY DECIDED on a route, but nevertheless, I am attempting to sow it with flowers. I was out in the garden at 6 this morning, and not because I woke up early. I never went to sleep. I tried; it just didn’t happen. I listened to music, watched some great tap and swing dance videos on YouTube, and thought about getting out of bed as early as 4. Instead, I lay awake dreading the garden chores I had sketched out for today.
As usual, the dreading took longer than the chores. And with the early morning sun backlighting the red leaves of my new Japanese maple, below, and setting the baby dogwood’s blossoms aglow, below that, I didn’t mind bagging more of last fall’s leaves or hacking back the unruly leucothoe or clipping off faded daffodils.
On the contrary: I felt most fortunate to have this lovely work to do.
I forget what the shrub with the yellow pompom flowers, above, is called. It was a buy at a roadside stand upstate. My burlap wrapping last fall helped. The bushes are leafier than they would have been otherwise at this time of year.
Lilies of the valley around a driftwood sculpture will soon flower.
Everything is bursting onto the scene at once, with visible changes each day. Tiny new flowers here, ferns unfurling there, the pink bloom of the epimedium, below in foreground, making its brief appearance.
I noted the wood poppy, above, that I was given in a paper cup on a garden tour last summer, spreading all over the place. Whether that’s going to be good or bad remains to be seen. You can also see a few giant aliums and some lilies (semi-deer-resistant) coming into their own.
The May apples, above, are back, mysteriously. Last year I saw none; this morning a few, though still far fewer than the profuse stand of two years ago. I took down a tree in the vicinity. Perhaps the change of light affected them?
I saw where the deer bedded down on the foliage of spent snowdrops, and a pair of cardinals going in and out of the branches of my contorted pine, right. I heard chirps and cheeps, whistles and caws.
A new season and a new day are dawning here on the East End of Long Island. I’ll probably crash by noon.