Kate smudges in earth, paint and life

Almost ready for the performance - Northern Fairy Candelabra

It isn't every spring we deign to make an appearance. Some years, our gruelling schedule takes its toll and we break from our usual, annual touring schedule. Last spring, was one such time. None of us can recall the source of our fatigue, but no matter. This year, we decided to appear with our full touring entourage. 

Usually we like to perform solo from every corner of the garden. This year, however, we've decided to do things a bit differently.

We formed several quartets that live up to the name most people know us by - Northern Fairy Candelabra (Androsace septentrionalis). There are also the usual solo performers who provide us with backup. 'Most years, we limit our touring to western parts of Canada and the United States. Some people call us Pygmyflowers too. We prefer to be thought of as Candelabra though.

While we are sometimes viewed as weeds in farmers' fields, we are mostly beloved as native wildflowers. What isn't there to love about us? Our white flowers appear high above our slender, toothed leaves and remind people of flickering candlelight. Each of our performances make every garden and field a much lovelier place.

When we have completed our final performances, we "do not go gentle into that good night." Rather, we  finish out the summer setting seeds for next year's possible return. As our leaves turn a beautiful reddish colour, we "rage, rage against the dying light."

Whenever we start blooming, one gardener is reminded of the song, Wildflowers, by The Trio  - Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris and Dolly Parton (1987).

I hitched a ride with the wind
and since he was my friend 
I just let him decide where we'd go 
When a flower grows wild
It can always survive
Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

Stay tuned for our much-anticipated performances. We prefer to wait until the Liverlilies are finished before taking front and centre stage.

Upon their return

It was a cool and sunny morning, with the robins making it known they had returned from their winter vacation spots.

"Maybe we should have delayed our spring trip for a few more weeks," the robin observed to no one in particular, "since I am rather parched this morning and our gardener's pond is frozen yet again."

"Well, the sunshine feels quite divine and so I shall rest for a brief spell. Hmmm... it looks as if I am being observed. I can't recall from last year's photographs,  if my profile looked better from the left or from the right. No matter, I will simply turn slowly so that the gardener, at least I think that is she in the window, will see me at my best."

Such simple delights in spring ... a glimpse of a robin,  slowly-emerging Scilla  and quiet moments in the warmth of the sun.

Needing a trim

If I lived in the front of the garden, then I'd have had a haircut by now," mumbled the Sedum.

"Because I'm large and  exuberant, I seem to be neglected unless I shout.  This morning, I almost caught the gardener's attention, but then she began looking for the Shooting Star (Dodecatheon pauciflorum) and forgot all about me.

I could have told her that the Shooting Star was not yet ready to make an appearance. Some plants spend far too much trying to make themselves beautiful before appearing at the spring fête.

I am in desperate need of a haircut. If only I could find the garden shears, I'd trim off my old hair and look just as dapper as those little Liverlilies. Truly I would. "

... said the ladybug to the woolly thyme

"My how lovely the sun feels on my back. I think I shall rest for a spell on this soft, comfortable bed."

"Oh, please do," murmured the woolly thyme. "The world's coming alive again. It's always good to make the acquaintance of one's neighbours."

First buds emerging

 Can you make out the three buds in this photograph?   They certainly weren't in evidence this morning when I brushed leaf debris from the Liverlilies (Hepatica nobilis).  But by mid-afternoon, with warmer temperatures and much sunshine, they made their appearance. I was excited, to put it mildly. This was an entirely unexpected treat.

For those who read my blog last spring, you might be thinking - oh no, not the Liverlilies again. I am falling even more in love them because they seem to do so well here.  Their foliage also looks great throughout the summer. Their beautiful sky-blue flowers are simple, but elegant. Two neighbouring Liverlily plants will soon be in bud, while two others are still under snow on the shadier and cooler side of the garden.

 

This past winter, I entertained myself by imagining my plants with their own personalities and inhabiting a world constructed entirely in my mind. In this world, plants slowly wake in the spring and carefully fold their leaves to sleep in autumn.  During their waking hours, the world is brimming with activity - there's drama, comedy, music, mystery, the odd chase scene and so much more.

 

Here is a short tale of the first day of the three liverlily blooms:

"What is that rustling noise I hear overhead?," I murmured. Ah finally ... some light and warmth on my back. Maybe if I poke my head up, I'll know if it's time to emerge from my cosy world. One tiny push and here I am, braving the world for the first time.

"Come on, hurry, it's warm up here," I whisper to my friends as I nudge them awake. "Wake up, wake up. We've slept long enough and there's nothing quite like the feeling of warm sunshine."

 

"Not so quickly," cautioned the tattered, elderly brown-leaf  high above us. "Take your time - there's no rush. The sun isn't going anywhere, at least not for a few hours."

 

"I hope that big brown dog won't step on us like he did last year," grumbled a neighbouring bud, slowly stretching and yawning.

 

"It wasn't his fault," said another elderly brown leaf. "Don't you remember that bothersome squirrel? I don't mean the nice one he liked, but the other one - the one with the fluffy tail?"

 

This brought talk of our memories of last summer when we were still under the earth, but listening to the world above. "That's the squirrel who ate our tulip neighbours just before we went on our long sleep,"  said our brown-leaved friend as she prodded another bud above earth.
 

Now that we buds were happily sunning ourselves, the brown leaves swayed gently above us and talked among themselves of their happiness in seeing the blue sky. We listened intently and looked everywhere, thankful that our world was bright with light again.

Second Nature - A Book Review

This seems to be my year for reading books by Michael Pollan. I had just finished reading his latest book,  In Defense of Food, when I delved back into Second Nature, published in 1991. This was the  selection for the February/March edition of the Garden Bloggers' Book Club, a bimonthly reading group hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens.

 

In Second Nature, Michael Pollan chronicles his experiences from a newly-minted and idealistic gardener to a battle-seasoned one. This book does not tell us how to garden specifically, but rather is a series of essays on subjects that most gardeners think about inevitably at some point in their gardening lives.

Through topics as diverse as compost, rose growing, tree planting, seed catalogues and weeds, I felt as if I had embarked on an eye-opening journey of discovery with Mr. Pollan.  There's drama in this book too, just as there is in our gardens. From his first mention of woodchucks, I wanted to read on and discover how ultimately Pollan makes peace with them. Or does he? Who among us hasn’t planted a garden only to discover some critters or night-time insects happily feasting on our gardens?

 

In several essays, Pollan challenges the romantic ideals and assumptions that held sway in his mind before he began gardening in earnest. As he discovered, 

I assumed that I could make a garden and at the same time remain on warm terms with the local flora and fauna. The process of overcoming my failures taught me how much harder it is to get along with nature as an active participant than as a distant admirer. (123) 

Pollan talks at length about what he sees as the competing and conflicting forces between nature and culture that have long been part of our North American heritage. It makes me want to delve further into the perennial discussion over how much human intervention is acceptable in our role as stewards of this planet. Pollan's take on this issue makes for interesting, although outdated, reading. In 1991, when this book was published, environmental issues hadn't quite reached the general public's consciousness to the same degree as they have now.

There are many interesting insights into the history of gardening as well. One of my favourite parts was reading Pollan description of how Americans (and Canadians too, for that matter) came to plant lawns across the US, no matter the climatic conditions.

 

He writes with such wit and candour that I suspect most every reader will be chuckling or nodding in sympathy or understanding. A discussion of seed catalogues has become a classic in garden reading and, if you don't read any other section of Second Nature, this is one that shouldn't be missed.

If you haven't already done so, I encourage you to read Second Nature. At the same time, you might enjoy reading Michael Pollan's guest blogging posts on his book at Amazon.com.