“Out of each wintry season
it happens again and again.
That yellow mustardy growth,
a photographer’s gold,
signals sunny days ahead
over hills and fields and country roads.
—
A smidgen before spring
it happens again and again.
Wild and free producing yields,
that warmth, that sunny glow
paints the earth mustardy yellow
where fallow grasses grow.” –016 DMA
For a fun read on Mustard history and more, check out Eat the Weeds
I can’t wait! Five weeks and winter is history. The climate has been so nice the past few days, low 70s, my winter cleanup is complete, at least in the perennial garden. A bazillion oak leaves and acorns are raked and dumped into the pasture. The ornamental pomegranate and crepe Myrtle are pruned, weeds removed, a faucet bib tightened, and pedestal leveled. The perennial garden is looking good. And that makes me feel good.
It’s early yet for spring blossoms, but here are two plants eager to show off.
The bushes and vines are filled with conversing birds diving in for a drink, grub, and nesting material.
This spotted salamander was discovered beneath a pile of leaves, a rare first sighting. They live beneath rocks, logs, and in burrows, and only come out at night to feed or mate. This salamander must have had night and day mixed up.
Behind the perennial garden, the hens take turn producing one egg per week. No point in rushing.
Back to the garden, this is one of several divided variegated irises that I planted around the fountain-turned-planter. Shade had reached the prior location and the irises didn’t bloom last year. Now the overhead sprinkler will hit them which could create ragged flowers. Sometimes a gardener has to move plants around before the perfect spot is found.
Last October, I helped the Vista Point volunteers, in Jackson, California, plant 10,000 daffodil bulbs. A few weeks ago, I visited the site. The spread of yellow, white, and orange flowers was a beautiful welcome into Jackson. I’m sure locals and tourists enjoyed the cheerful spring blooms. That is what the plantings were all about . . . putting a smile in the hearts of those who pass by.
. . . the beautiful vegetation in and around my garden are most likely a distant collection of God’s Garden of Eden. How special is that?
(Want the name of the plants above? Place your cursor over each photo.)
Join me on:
The hens lay their eggs again; I gather a daily yield
The grass grows tall; the pastures emerge green
I mow more often the lawn and fields.
Alone I garden, in deep regard this spring
For passionate labor and good things received
Including the sacrifice of Jesus, His abundant love
Come spring, come Easter, come every day
A solace to the human race.
Copyright © 2012 Dianne Marie Andre
Happy Easter family and friends.
This year, spring through summer, many changes have occurred throughout the seasons. One major, uninvited, alternation on our country property where we live was the removal of four beautiful trees. Now, at the threshold of autumn, the open rolling hills along our northern pasture are about to transform. The neighbors are putting in a vineyard.
In the following days and weeks, huge equipment will rip through the land. Dust will hover like low, lingering fog. Field workers will come and go. Parked cars will sit on the shoulders of our PRIVATE dead-end road. Voices and perhaps a little singing or whistling will drift over the foothills and into the valleys. After the plantings and later when the vines have grown, chemicals will contaminate the air, the land, and most likely on the volunteer oats where our beef cattle graze.
I know what to expect. Clements Vineyard is a few feet east of our property. During harvest season picking machines HOWL in the middle of the night. We don’t sleep. Yellow slow-moving headlights glow like dinosaur eyes and spook Ralphie. He runs from window to window barking repeatedly. I tell him, “It’s only headlights, Ralphie. Go to sleep.” Like a comedy portraying poor communication between characters, he doesn’t listen.
Staged for change at autumn’s oncoming approach, man is capsulizing my world into metamorphosis. I’m beginning to feel small, sandwiched in . . . overrun via alterations. Sooner or later I will adjust. So will Ralphie. Like my husband said, “It wouldn’t bother us if we were putting in the vineyard.” © 2011 Dianne Marie Andre
In and Around the Garden 