Apple Blossoms

It was a beautiful morning this morning.  There have been many beautiful mornings during March.  The temperatures have been in the 80's, which is more like those we normally see in late spring!  Terrapins, normally out in late May and early June, have been awaken by the warm days and are already making their walk-abouts across the country highways and through the fields. The plum tree has already bloomed and there are tiny green globed fruits hanging among the leaves.  Now the apple trees are in full bloom.  The ground is covered with the spent white blossoms - a soft, scented spring snow.  Sitting under the tree this morning taking a respite from weeding the garden,  I sat and studied the apple tree.  It's pink and white blossoms were alive with all types of bees and moths and butterflies.  The light breeze and the movement of the bees made the trees tremble with the expectation of fruit to come.  The bees moved from flower to flower with saddle bags of yellow pollen on their legs.  I don't see how they can continue to fly with such loads!   The martens were busy overhead examining the bird house like a couple selecting their first apartment.  They went into every hole and chirped and sang as they tried to decide where to nest.  The cat simply sat and watched it all flicking her long tail and simple enjoying the moment.  It was a good day in the orchard.                                                                 

The Waxing Spring Moon

The moon is in its waxing stage.  That means it is moving past the dark, new moon stage and getting brighter as it moves toward the full moon.  Many gardeners plant by the moon and the signs.  I don't use the signs too much, and you can consult an almanac for what are the correct dates for your area.  Generally, my grandma said, "Waxing moon, plant things that fruit above ground; waning moon, plant things that fruit below ground."  So since the moon is waxing, I was in the garden first thing this morning checking to see if I might be able to plant some more lettuce this weekend.  I think I can as soon as the soil dries a bit from all of the heavy rains we have had.  My raised beds drain very well, so I should be able to poke a few seeds into the lovely black soil.  I'm using pelleted lettuce seed this year.  I've not tried that before, so I'm anxious to see how it germinates and grows.  It does make planting lettuce easy and the spacing of it a breeze.  Hopefully, it will mean much less thinning, which I always think of as a waste of perfectly good plants.

This week I was at a national education conference, and I had the opportunity to visit with some women from Wisconsin.  Although they had only 7 inches of snow this year, they had not even started their tender plants inside yet.  I could see the anticipation in their eyes as they talked about being able to put those first tomato seeds in flats in a few days! As I walked to the garden this morning looking for signs of my potatoes sprouting and marveling at the peas and early lettuce coming along, I thought of my Wisconsin friends just waiting to get their hands in the dirt and begin that cycle of planting and harvest.  I didn't have the heart to tell them that my pepper plants, still under the grow lights are 6 inches tall.  The tomatoes and eggplants are about 4 inches tall.  I know the anxious anticipation of planting.  I just crumbled the dirt in my hands, said a prayer of thanks for sun and rain and came in and sorted the seed packets for about the tenth time.

Destruction

Beware the ides of March is what Caesar was told.  It was a warning I should have heeded too.  Today the power company came to exercise it's privilege of right-of -way.  There are transmission lines running over the front corner of our property near the road.  For 20 years no one has said a thing.  But today the men in the trucks came to clear 100 feet under the lines.  We lost two beautiful, big white pine trees, two big bald cypress, a short leaf pine, and two trees from the orchard.  It was so sad.  I feel worse about these tree than I felt when the dog died! I think of the habitat for the birds, the carbon they were storing, the shade a beauty they gave us.  It makes me weep.  But at the same time, if a storm blew them into the power lines and the little man down the road couldn't use his respirator, or a sick child had no heat or air, I would feel terrible.  I have to consider the trees my sacrifice for the greater good of the community.  But still I am incredibly sad.

So time to replan the space.  Nothing can be planted there.  But wildflowers might work.  They won't bother the power lines, and they will still add some beauty.  I will have to think about this, but I think wildflowers or big sunflowers might work.  They are seasonal like grass.  Of maybe I can plant grasses for quail habitat.  There are possibilities.  When one thing is destroyed, we must mourn it for a while and then plan and create and grow something positive from the dust.

Daffodils

"Daffodils" 

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth 

 

Spring

Spring is here once again.  All the typical signs are evident:  the peepers are singing in the ditch, the crocus and daffodils are blooming the country roads are littered with dead skunks.  It baffles me that of all the beauty spring brings, the flattened bodies of skunks are one of the first signs.  I guess it doesn't pay to be one of the first ones out in spring.  On a brighter note, this morning there were rabbits grazing on the few green shoots of grass out by the garden.

Today it is in the low 60's and the early seeds sitting on the counter were calling my name.  So since the moon phase is almost right, the ground was not cold, the soil had just the right tilth and I could no longer resist the call to get my hands in the dirt, I planted some peas.  Just one short row.  I have plenty of seed, so I will probably have to plant again, but just working the soil and placing the plump, wrinkled seeds in the earth was wonderful.  Sun and rain and they will grow.

The early seedlings I started indoors are coming up.  The tiny necks of the plant poke through the soil and then lift their head and unfurl their first two leaves.  I always feel that life is affirmed when a seed sprouts and begins its life.  Grandpa and I bend over the young plants and marvel at how such a tiny seed will become a sturdy pepper plant or a ranging tomato that will take over the garden.  All is takes is someone to plant the seed and give it food, water and light.  People are a lot like that too.  All we need to do is give each other care and food, water and light.  Affirm life.

Is It Spring?

A lovely, mild winter.  Everyone is loving the warm, pleasant weather, but everything is out of kilter!  My spring bulbs, which are usually just beginning to peek out by this time, are 4 inches tall.  The birds are singing in the mornings as if it were spring.  And beyond any reason, I planted lettuce! This shirt-sleeve weather has me sorting seeds, puttering among the garden beds and getting out the peat pots to begin starting seeds for the garden.  But it is too early.  They say a big storm is on the way.  Perhaps, but just in case it misses us, I am going to plan for an early spring!

Stars

The stars have always fascinated me.  When I was a child, we lived near an observatory, and often my parents would take us to the public programs offered there.  On of my fondest memories is sitting through a lecture about what we were to see then climbing into the big dome with it silver eyelid open to the night sky.  In my dress, patent leather shoes and cardigan sweater I climbed the black metal stairs to peer through the tiny eyepiece.  I recall the first time I saw a miniature Saturn and its rings there before me.  It was magical and spiritual all at once.

I've forgotten much of what I learned during those lectures, but still on a cold, clear winter night I love to look at the night sky.  The winter sky is my favorite, and although I can still find the dippers and Orion, I mostly just stand bundled in my coat and scarf with my head back in wonder.  In winter the stars are twice as bright and seem close enough to touch, and from our driveway in the country away from the city lights, it is as if they were strung across the jet black night just for us.  I marvel at them now as I did looking  for the first time through the telescope.  It is still spiritual and magical all at once.