10 Days in May

The last week has been all about the bluebirds. I wake up each morning happy to hear the peeping of the babies in the box outside the bedroom window. 

Most of the irises at our new house are shades of purple, blue and white, but this yellow one was a cheerful surprise in the morning sun.

Sitting on the front porch, I saw awkward flutterings and a fledgling alight on the roof, then in the holly. I believe it is a young finch, as I saw the parent finches nearby. 

I nearly cut down this rose bush last fall during one of my pruning frenzies. The cane was ungainly and leaning awkwardly, I thought, on an azalea. Ha! I am often glad when I overcome my ideas about how things should look in the garden.

Swiss chard is growing well and I expect will be our only greens in the garden soon if the heat continues. Lettuce is still a near-daily treat. 

Carpenter bees (I think) have been busy pollinating the hollies. I have been very glad to see them, given the bee crisis. The tomato plants are beginning to flower, and they will need pollinators.

This iris takes my words away. 

My husband set up the tripod on a chest in the bedroom to capture bluebird photos.

The babies are getting active in the box and beginning to poke their heads out. Each day, I hate to leave the house because I want to see them fledge. 

A rose bush that I hacked to the ground produced one perfect rose. It smells like a rose should.

Iris and Beech

Irises abound at my new house. Eggplant purple, various combinations of purple and white, and pale blue irises have emerged over the past two weeks. Some of the stems topple under their own weight and then I cut them and bring them in the house or to work, where I get to admire them all day on my desk. The latest beauty to emerge is this yellow iris. 

Last night it was a bud. This morning it glowed in the sun. By the time I returned in late afternoon, it had fallen amidst the verbenas. 

I finally hiked to the natural area where you are supposed to have a permit (shh) to see the stand of old beeches. I walked carefully through periodic patches of poison ivy to the secret beeches. I found this one, half of which has a rotten heart yet still bears fresh green leaves. I lay under it for awhile, happy, and watched the water of Reedy Creek flow. 

Blessing Cups

For days the refrain has been singing in my head: "The blessing cup is a communion ..."

The emerging dogwood flowers are blessing cups of raindrops.

Emerging dogwood flowers 

Purple buds of the redbud 

Camellia, perhaps "April Rose"

Lettuce mix

Redbud

Enjoy the gifts showered around you. Happy spring!

Spring Comes to the Garden

I returned from a family visit to Florida and over the Easter weekend it became spring. The forsythia bushes in my new garden are gorgeous - and the prolonged cold meant a long season of color.

Phlox mixed with daffodils and irises spills over the curb. 

One of the two hellebores I took with me from my old house. I'm counting on this hellebore to be the parent of many children.

A stunning 20-foot tall camellia flanks the entry gate into the side yard. It had buds for many months before it bloomed, but it has been worth the wait. I love the surprises of a new garden!

On Easter my husband and I visited the JC Raulston Arboretum. I'd like to grow this lovely daffodil ('Pink Pride') below. The daffodils in our yard had a lovely run of bloom, but they're done. 

 One of the many magnolias in bloom at the Arboretum. I believe this is Magnolia stellata 'Rosea Jane Platt.' Too bad we don't have room for more trees!

The emerging foliage of a Japanese maple. 

 Spring tree colors may be prettier than autumn's. This is the view across the street.

I'm still working on finding a balance between work, time in the garden, photography and blogging. I may experiment with simpler blog posts or set a weekly deadline and post something more substantial once a week. Either way, I want to continue to share and learn from the garden blogging community. I miss you all!

Of Daffodils, a Concrete Bench, Courage and Grace

Early daffodils, most likely "Ice Follies"

In the last week or so, the early daffodils have been blooming. Daffodils look rather fragile, with their delicate nodding petals and soft spears of green leaves. But one week in January, I discovered a secret. 

Note part of concrete bench at top right.

My husband and I moved the concrete bench (see top right in the photo above). This bench is so heavy that both of us can barely lift the top for a few seconds, so we moved it in stages. Lift top slab. Lean against tree. Move one concrete pedestal. Move other concrete pedestal.

To my astonishment, under the second pedestal, yellow growing tips of daffodil leaves were poking through the soil.

Daffodils that were under the bench.  

Weeks later, I keep returning to reflect on the life force of these daffodils, at the energy with which they grew up through the earth. They could not feel the sun's warmth or see the light as they grew, but instinctively, blindly, courageously the plants grew, cell by cell. Their desire to be in the sun, to become the flowers they were meant to be, overcame the weight of a concrete bench.

I seek the courage of these daffodils, the energy, the love and the trust with which they grew despite heavy odds against them. How wonderful in this case to be the witness - and the accidental agent - of a small miracle. I think now of God's grace as the removal of an unmovable bench. My job is to keep growing without fear. 

A Gift of Robins

The days are getting longer and the morning's birdsong louder. I am returning to myself after months of clouded overwork. Today I saw the most beautiful sight I've seen for quite some time. Dozens of robins flew in and out of the hollies just outside the window, eating berries, perching on bare branches and drinking from the birdbath. I took photos, then put aside the camera and watched for a long time.

I've been praying for the grace of inner silence, to stop the endless videotape of thoughts about what happened yesterday and speculations about what's going to happen tomorrow. The robins, shimmering in the hollies as they fluttered their wings to balance while reaching for berries and flew from branch to branch, brought that silence.

As I continued to contemplate the robins, a bird with a black mask and yellow-tipped tail appeared out of nowhere. A cedar waxwing! I haven't seen one since childhood in Michigan, I think. The red markings on the wings match the holly berries. 

At work at the church this fall and early winter, I became lost in administration and words. Paper words, electronic words. For months, I failed even to fill the feeder outside my office window. I also failed to feed myself, with time in nature and the garden, time in stillness and observation of the life around me. But the days are getting longer,  and I am returning to the feast. 

Maine Island: Variations on a Scene

The island in Casco Bay where my husband's family cottage sits has many moods. I have been coming here for 14 years as summer slides into fall. The slanting light becomes more beautiful each day as the equinox approaches.

Each familiar scene never looks the same twice. Always something is different - the light, the wind, the clouds, the vantage point, the tides that rise and ebb 10 feet every 13 hours. Here are a few favorite photos from the last three years of the East End point. This is the view we see when walking a couple of hundred feet to the stairs that lead to the beach. 

After a rainstorm, the late afternoon sun strikes the white birches that line the shore.

Wind from the northwest brings low dramatic clouds and rockweed is exposed as the tide goes out. 

This view of the East End was taken from halfway down the beach.

A different kind of calm from the photo above. The scene is ethereal at dawn. 

Inviting in the late afternoon.

Violent, yet exhilarating, during tropical storm Irene.

Cold and lonely when the sun goes behind a cloud.

Tonight we'll sit on the point that looks toward the East End and watch the stars. It was here that God began to find me.