{dirt 60631} A Wish for Spring?

{dirt 60631} chronicles Yvonne's garden journey in a Zone 5, Chicago city lot.

There is a rush for Spring to unfold.  To see, once again, something fresh and in bloom.  But at this moment, as the light has changed and the shadows have shifted, there is a beauty in the late winter garden that I should not wish away too quickly.  

I have to remind myself during the garden chores, to stop and admire the garden structure, admire this moment of quiet beauty.  For soon it will be gone, and will be replaced with the fast moving, exuberant charms of the Spring storm.

Now is when the structure of the shrubs, the box and the evergreens, look their best with the flattering light and long shadows of the late afternoon.  From my perch, the view along the southside of the garden is framed in box hedges and focused thru a weeping white spruce (Picea glauca) and a narrow arborvitae (Thuja occidentalis 'Degroot's Spire') to a drift of snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) now blooming under the Pin Oak (Quercus palustris).  The late afternoon light intensifies the evergreens and catches the white blossoms of the snowdrops perfectly, making them sparkle and dance above the darkness of the soil like fireflies.  As I chase the sun to prune the crab apples, magnolias and hydrangeas, I must remind myself to make time to take in this fleeting moment ... Spring will arrive soon enough.

{dirt 60631} Present in the Garden

{dirt 60631} chronicles Yvonne's garden journey in a Zone 5, Chicago city lot.

The garden is full of sights, sounds, and smells.  I can hear (in the absence of planes overhead and a moments pause in dueling lawn services) the acorns falling from the Pin Oak onto the roof.  Rap. Rap. Rap.  The cicadas are beating their drums looking for a mate.  The wind chimes are a symphony in the slight easterly breeze.  The air is filled with the perfume of phlox, gardenia, and jasmine.  And, an interesting dragonfly (a female Sympertrum vicinum) is getting on with it's business.

{dirt 60631} Lawn

{dirt 60631} chronicles Yvonne's garden journey in a Zone 5, Chicago city lot.

I don't understand the incessant need to only plant something that must be fertilized three times a year and watered constantly only to be cut back once or twice a week, (not to mention spending money on paper bags only to throw them and the cuttings away) and have a city worker haul it away to the dump.  Or better yet, pay an exorbitant fee for someone to cut it and haul it away.  And, you ask me about the cost of a plant?!  Hm.

{dirt 60631 } A Green Winter Day

{dirt 60631} chronicles Yvonne's garden journey in a Zone 5, Chicago city lot.

So here I sit staring out the window, wanting, waiting to get out.  After all, the garden is green and orange and red and pink, and the calendar says June 30th.  But, it's another green winter day outside.  Not so cold that you can't venture out; too hot and so humid you don't even dare open the door (that is unless you like walking into an oven).

So here I sit staring in both disbelief and amazement, looking for signs of crying plants in need of rescue.  But rescue how?  This weather has come earlier (yes, I believe it is due to changing weather patterns, global warming, YES!) than even last year and this is already our third event.  To water mid-day is wasteful and ineffective at relieving the stress.  To erect temporary shading from the desiccating sun and wind is undoable and over the top, even for me.  Although, Larry is convinced I'm still trying to come up with some engineering marvel that he will have to help execute.

So here I sit staring out the window, taking in the view.  The lilies are at their peak, a splash of cool pink swaying in the hot sun.  A hummingbird is dining on the orange flowers of the honeysuckle vine.  The aruncus flowers have dried and browned in the hot west wind.  There, too, is promise for tomorrow.  Daylily buds have swelled, like zucchini, in the heat, just waiting to pop; and, the hosta are getting ready to show their purple petticoats.

The life of a gardener.