When Night Shimmers

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast that it invented romance.”~Bern Williams

it's that time of year, here at latitude 53, as we approach the shortest night of the year, when it doesn't really get completely dark at night. I find that in June I barely sleep.

I think I just don't want to miss anything--the birdsong, the lilac perfume on the air, the soft, fresh green of new summer. Because our back garden is private, I like to sneak out in my pyjamas and soak it in--dozing in my lounger with a blanket.

June makes me feel like a teenager again going to a summer dance. The world is beautiful and everything is possible.

The Healing Garden

So, my busy life has come to a standstill. In June. A few weeks ago I finally got the call for a long awaited surgery. Nothing serious, but it does lay me up for a month. And that month is June. Yeah, so I won't be doing much. The good? It is June and I can go outside. In the garden.

My husband set up our gazebo for me and I have an outdoor wicker chaise lounger with cushions. So I have been taking a blanket, music and reading stuff and dozing outside in the afternoons.

I'm actually getting to enjoy watching my plants grow. Who knew it was so fun? Well, some of you, I know.

My columbines (Aquilegia "Biedermeirer') came through the winter beautifully. I hope they self seed and spread the love around.

The irises (name unknown) my Dad gave me are just starting. I've realized my garden is shadier than I thought as everything seems to be a little behind sunnier gardens in the neighbourhood. I'm good with that.

I only got one tulip (tulipa 'Spring Green') from my small patch by the back door. The rest are suspiciously picked and trampled. I could blame the crazed magpies guarding over their fledglings or perhaps a certain enthusiastic preschooler who frequents the garden? :)

My maidenhair fern (Adiantum pedatum) is just unfurling and dances in the light. Hard to believe how tough this delicate looking little plant is. I highly recommend it for those who garden in the GWN.

My Eared Lady Fern (Athyrium Otophorum), that I thought was a goner, made her appearance today. She simply glows in the shade and I am so pleased to welcome her back.

And finally, a sure sign of the nearing summer, my very first rose bloom of the season. Thérèse Bugnet is covered in buds and promises to delight me all week.

I really believe the garden is keeping me sane during my imposed time of rest. It is also giving me lots of time to think about my life, my plans for my garden, my dreams for the future and what is really important to me. It's amazing how inspiring quiet time in the garden is. (If I make some big shift in my life in the coming year blame it on this June in the garden!)

In the next week or so we have some guys coming to help with some major planting of the garden. Should I lay on the chaise like a garden princess and observe (and probably feel guilty - or worse, bossy) or should I keep to the house during those days? What do you think?

I hope you are all enjoying some quiet, restorative time in your beautiful gardens.

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~ Henry James

when you sing in your whisky voice

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's getting kinda slushy around these parts. When I'm wandering the trails I try to stay on the trodden path because the snow there is packed down and there is less possibility I will sink through to my knees. I can see the deer tracks really well in this damp snow and I know I am not that far behind them.

[These narcissus taken May 2010 in neighbour's front garden. Aren't they the cutest!]

The days lately have been brilliant sunshine and one section of my trail is closed off due to flooding. Greenish yellow water followed me down another trail today in gushes staining the snow in front of it. I bet that section of trail will be closed off by tomorrow. Crows are wheeling through the neighbourhood and the magpies are affronted.

Given all this extravagance of wakening earth after a hard, snowpacked winter, I can only think of one poem that really captures it. Here is my old university sweetheart...

...when you sing in your whisky voice
the grass rises on the head of the earth
and all the trees are put on edge...

Welcome back, Miss Spring. Like a gin-soaked favourite auntie with the best stories, hugging us all and smearing lipstick on the kids, you are bit late for the party, but we are still tickled pink that you are here.

I Speak Of May

"I thought that spring must last forevermore


For I was young and loved,


and it was May."
~ Vera Brittain, May Morning


Oh why does my Prunus triloba ‘Multiplex’ (double flowering plum) have to bloom its head off this year, of all years? For the last two Mays we’ve been here it has put out a half dozen blooms at best. A sweet but paltry offering, and rather fleeting. Worse yet, it was planted by the previous owners up against the driveway, so that whenever we get out of the vehicle we get caught up in it. I have pruned that side of it as naturally looking as possible and have succeeded at keeping it at bay – for now. I was firm that it was coming out this year. So why is every centimetre of it covered in buds this year? Why does it look so beguiling that even my toddler is enchanted with it, touching the buds each time he goes by? Maybe if I take a course in pruning I can keep it off the driveway and keep it balanced looking. In the meantime, the next week or two promises a blush of enchantment that will not, I repeat, will not, influence or woo me in any way. Not at all. I mean, who likes pink frothy spring blooms anyway? Just in case, though, tell me there's a way to prune this charmer and keep it looking balanced. I mean, my job as resident gardener of this forgotten garden is all about making things work, right?

The New Spirit

There is a certain wistfulness to the season right now. Spring is nudging her shoulder against the trees and and beaming down on the soil. Easter, no matter how your recognize it, really encompasses that spirit of renewal and hope for a new season, better and brighter than the last. That's why we plan, we plant and we delight in seeing our gardens come to life once again.

Hope your Easter was wonderful!

My Words have Frozen to the Windows

This morning I awoke to temperatures of -31 ºC (-23.8 ºF), and it is supposed to get colder. I will be snuggling into my faux fur throw today and making my hot Ovaltine cocoa drink (the secret is the allspice!), eating stinky cheeses and listening to Vince Guaraldi's Charlie Brown Christmas CD.

[photo taken November 22, 2009, when winter was merely frosty]

I wasn't going to leave the house at all, except, a colleague surprised me by announcing he is conducting a Christmas concert this evening at a church very near my home, and I would so love to go. You would think I would be content after hearing Handel's Messiah at the Winspear last weekend, but I just love Christmas music (not of the Dept store variety), and particularly choral music. So, I may slip out and brave the weather and hope my eyelashes don't freeze should the music move me to tears.

I'll leave you to enjoy the warmth of your cosy homes with this quote I found a few years ago that feels very apropo to these crystalline days:

"Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer."
~ From Plutarch's Moralia

Hope you are finding ways to keep your spirit warm!