Near the end of our Spring Stroll in Boston, this patch of yellow crocus appeared, heralding the new season and mimicking the sun that decided to disappear right at that moment. These little flowers carried on the cheer in the face of wind and rain. They make a lovely little mid-Sunday treat as well.
Legend has it that the name ‘daisy’ is derived from ‘day’s eye’, which seems too good to be true, but maybe there was a time when the world made sense, and pretty things had pretty names without any sort of ulterior motives or cynical irony. I’m embracing that kind of hope as I am due in Cape Cod for JoAnn’s birthday gathering, and given the way travel plans have gone over the past two years, may the universe smile on our little get-together.
In honor of the birthday girl, here are some daisies, one of her favorites. They remind me of her, and populate any party we’ve thrown in her honor. A more cheerful floral persona the world doesn’t yet know.
A true pansy laughs off spring snowstorms, shuddering in the wind and cold, but bravely prevailing and shaking off the icy cloak of winter’s death throes. At the time of this writing, I have no idea what sort of snow event we will be getting today, or how it might affect the plants outside. It’s way too early for me to have put anything outside, and the perennials and shrubs will have the power to shrug off the snow as needed. We may lose a few flowers in the process, but such is to be expected in upstate New York.
In the meantime, this glimpse of pansies from the local nursery will provide a happy thing to look upon while we trudge through a decidedly dreary day. Andy had hoped to have the pool open and running by now, though it may be best to wait a bit. No sense in having it snow on that parade.
While spring wavers in properly arriving, and we still have snow squalls terrorizing the neighborhood, I’ve been in a bit of a funk, seeking some source of inspiration for kicking myself into spring gear. I may try switching out the rose quartz crystal I use in my daily meditation with a carnelian stone, which supposedly ignites the creative drive.
Or maybe this blazing begonia seen at Faddegon’s will prove the incendiary source of inspiration to usher me into creatively fertile ground. Any recommended music, books, shows, movies, or artists are always appreciated.
My relationship with the Forsythia bush has long been strained. While I always appreciated its early blooming period, often the very first plant to bravely put forth any blossoms at such a precarious point in time, the rest of the plant, and even the flowers themselves, have proven problematic for my admittedly fastidious, and perhaps unfair, viewpoint.
As mentioned, Forsythia is known best for its bright yellow blooms, seen here on a few nursery specimens (because I absolutely will not grow this in our yard). They are a happy mark that signals the return of spring, and warmer weather to come. Their drawbacks are that while stunning in color, in form the flower branches are often bare at top and between the blooms, making it necessary to drastically prune for any sort of arrangement. They also generally appear on straight and rigid stems, giving a somewhat unnatural and stilted appearance.
More problematic for me is the rest of the plant and its growing style. With the exception of some rigid stems bearing flowers, the rest of the new shoots are wild and wiry, issuing forth from the center of the plant and going absolutely everywhere without rhyme or reason. They will grow tall, to the point where they flop over and start rooting in the soil – a method of propagation that might work well in the wild, but absolutely ruins any hope of landscaping order. It goes against my very Virgo nature, and while I have learned to appreciate such wild wanderings from some plants, the forsythia doesn’t appeal to me in many other ways to change my view. As such, I admire these plants from a distance, just at this particular time of the year, and move on to warmer days as quickly as possible.
When spring is slow to start, and the flowers are hesitant to open, I find my way to Faddegon’s to get a little floral fix before everything opens at once. (It usually happens when more than one day in a row deigns to be warm, and since that doesn’t look to happen with any consistency soon, here are a few floral blasts from the local greenhouse. They give a thrill because of their strong colors, and may be appreciated more than when the outside world will inevitably catch up to them.
Why Tuesday should feel so much worse than Monday is one of life’s more bothersome mysteries. The Tuesday Blues are a real thing, and sometimes the only thing to combat their shadow is something like these gorgeously-shaded grape hyacinths. The colors of these are more delicate and nuanced than the ones that are more commonly found in the spring garden, and in the greenhouse where I found this grouping, they are far less tattered than those thrown about by spring winds and storms.
The term ‘hot-house flower’ is usually used in disparaging fashion, describing some overly-delicate person considered too sensitive or sheltered for their own good. Personally, I’ve always thought of a hot-house flower as something rare and exotic, something to be exalted and honored, and if that means being a little more careful and considerate of them, all the better.
So here’s to the hot-house flowers, like this variety of grape hyacinth, lucky and fortunate to be raised outside of the winter wilderness. We should not begrudge it such a pampered life.
While outside, April showers…
And all the rain of the past week has put a damper on all the outside work that needs to be finished. I’ve always taken rain as nature’s cue to slow down, particularly at this time of the year when too many of us try to do too many things. Spring has us all a little antsy, and in that diabolical way Mother Nature has, it won’t let us out until we’ve learned to find peace inside.
To that end, I fill the house with flowers and prettiness, easing the mind with meditation and reading. Quiet pursuits with serenity as their guiding force. A Saturday in spring may start quietly. There will be time for summer noise soon enough.
Fiery of shade and flame-like of hue, this tulip bloom is a little globe on fire, and it’s inspiring me to burn with the brightest flame, no matter what the cost or wear and tear. “My candles burns at both ends, it will not last the night,” Edna St. Vincent Millay once wrote, “But Ahh my foes, and oh my friends, it gives a lovely light!”
The older I get, the less willing I am to put up with the bullshit. More patient and tolerant in many ways, I’m also well-aware of my breaking point, and what I will or won’t tolerate. Baseless attacks on loyalty and friendship are foremost among those things that cannot be ignored. Peddling in lies and false tales won’t be allowed either. Try me and find out.
In the past, such a stance was forced and propped up by insecurity and doubt. Lashing out was a way to mask feelings of inferiority. These days, I don’t feel the need to shout. More is accomplished – and in more frightening fashion – when the words are spoken quietly, with assurance, genuine self-confidence, and the irrefutable backing of truth.
When the fires burn low, and the ash crumbles, it is the truth that will remain – crystalline and unassailable – forged as if in hell, tempered by an ever-present divinity, and sparkling for all the world to see.
The forecast for the rest of the week calls for rain every damn day, so I’m posting a few sunny flower pics in the hope that they bring cheer when the clouds come to stay. These little white daisy-like blooms are produced in abundance on their stems and were, I’m slightly ashamed to admit, designed as filler for some bolder and bigger lilies and sunflowers. Both of those ended their show before these little beauties gave in, and so I can now appreciate them for the wonder they are.
Their unassuming subtlety and quiet countenance deceptively hide the power of their effect. When viewed up close, and also en masse, their enchantment only grows.
It is precisely the sort of magic balm we need for these rainy days.
“It is spring time now! While the world looks for a new war to fight, you look for a cherry blossom to watch! Let the stupid seeks the violence; you seek the elegance!” ~ Mehmet Murat Ildan
Early spring heaves a heavy sigh, shedding a few tears of upcoming rainy days – a necessary part of spring glory I suppose, but oh how the heart aches for some sun and warmth… In the meantime, all we have are these falsely-started cherry blossoms, doing their best to cajole some happy spirits, and console the heavy hearts.
A spring jazz selection will have to do to pass these next few dreary days. April showers bring May flowers… April showers bring May flowers… April showers bring May flowers… so we chant and intone and will it into being.
If you need an ambient background for your meditation (silence is oppressive to some people) I would like to suggest this collection of Japanese flute melodies, accompanied by a harp. It put me in the mind of the cherry blossoms that I forced this week. They don’t bloom as big or as boisterously as when they come into their own naturally outside, but even the smaller and more delicate blooms are appreciated at this point. We are desperate for spring, and the sooner it arrives, the better. If that means a little nudging and coaxing, such as with these forced blooms, so be it.
As another week gets underway, and Sunday can be seen as both an ending and a beginning, I lower myself onto the floor, cross my legs beneath me in lotus-fashion, and begin the daily meditation. May the calm and serenity I find here work its way well into the week, providing a sanctuary and repository of peace and tranquility when the work waters swell and the storm clouds gather.
Creating such a space, and time and place, may feel fleeting and temporal at first, until you realize you can access it at those times that aren’t peaceful and calm. A few deep breaths, when practiced and collated with moments of serenity, can remind the body and the mind of what that feels like, recalling the memories of sanctuary like pleasant echoes of a sweet melody.
“The most precious gift we can give anyone is our attention. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
On this last day of March, and for this final post of the month, here are a couple of peony tulips just beginning to unfurl their splendor. The weather is forecast to be slightly stormy, but warmer, and that’s good enough after the cold spell we’ve had of late. Truth be told, March wasn’t as terrible to us as it could have been (and as it’s been in the past). Changeable weather is a mainstay of upstate New York, and to expect consistency or comfort is a certain path to misery. Instead, we embrace the good days when they’re at hand, and find ways of making the most of the bad ones.
The last day of the month is also a good place to pause for reflection on where we are now in comparison to where we were when it all began. Comparison is the thief of joy, but we can carefully navigate the past without too much dismay. Let’s start with the most recent week, in which chills and thrills mimicked the variable weather. Then there was this St. Patrick’s Day recap personified by green Burberry briefs. The middle of March brought about this sunny-flower-fronted recap, while the very first recap of the month was equally inspired by the sun. That brings us to this post, the last one for the month of March – the month in which spring officially arrived, one that sets us up for all the April showers…
In keeping with this promise, here is the cheery spring thought/visual of the day: ranunculus. These flowers deserve a prettier name, though some might think ‘ranunculus’ is a gorgeous, if cumbersome, word. Personally, I don’t. They are too magnificently frilly and fancy, their petals softer and yet more voluminous than a rose. They personify the delicate beauty that spring can, at certain moments, so preciously embody. Their color is brilliant – coming in all shades of bright yellow, fiery orange, steamy scarlet, and thrilling pink, along with creams and whites for more elegant moments. They pop up sporadically in Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods Market, as well as the more decent florist shops, and they make great cut flowers, opening fully and staying fresh as long as they have adequate water.
On this fourth day of spring, we celebrate the season. Pause and inhale, then let it all out.
These spring primrose plants lit up a corner of the Faddegon’s greenhouse, heralding the season in cheery, colorful form. They are fleeting beauties, like the season they represent, and all the more beautiful for it. What doesn’t last is always loved a little bit more.
This spring I intend to take each day as it comes, finding a little ray of hope – the essence of spring – at every turn. In this blustery stretch of March, these primrose blooms will suffice. May they cheer your day too.
