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March 2, 2010
By Claire Sykes
Gone is the wood smoke gusting from chimneys, its charred aroma carried off by bitter breezes. No more snow-covered tree limbs drawing chalk lines on a blackboard sky. The freezing weather has moved on and all the snow has melted into puddles now splattered with March rains.
"Almost Spring" (Photo and copyright by Paul Loney)
A hint of winter winds may still slap the leafless branches of an oak, and tall tarnished grasses may sway and hiss in a vestigial chill. But spring now coaxes—its showers steeping the earth, its sun warming the corners of afternoon and wooing the edges of the earliest blossoms.
"Thursday Lunch Walk" (Photo and copyright by Paul Loney)
Just before the burst of foliage and flower, the “bones” of the garden thrive with their own shapes, textures, colors and scents. Bare trees, shrubs, fences and fountains decide its structure, more noticeable in this brand-new season. Its beauty emerges in subtle silhouettes, and in the details of berries, barks and buds, all elated with the essence of spring.
Courtesy www.naturalc.com
In March’s tilted morning light, the ginkgo tree’s bony branches press their shadow against a stony garden wall. The Blue Star juniper stands out with its soft, icy-azure needles and deep-black berries. On the ground, patches of heather stitch a knee-deep quilt of golds, greens, purples and silvers; and fresh blades of grass just begin to sprout from a dull, brown lawn.
Spare and open, the early-spring garden divulges what warmer weather conceals. The meandering morning glories of summer will only hide the delicate moss growing on that arbor. And lush July would never permit the pendulous branches of the willow tree to sprawl, so free of leaves, against a cloudless sky.
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To a garden not yet filled with flowering, by winter’s end the fall-blooming reed grass has dried to creamy silk, and the scratchy seed heads of Jerusalem sage add gentle color and curious texture. Spring’s crusty seedpods and craggy grasses that seem at first glance so barren come alive when you choose not to pass them by.
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But anyone yearns for petals this time of year, and the fresh new season gladly gives it—in snowdrops and crocuses, and winter aconites, witch hazel and forsythia. Meanwhile, violet-scented Dutch irises nuzzle up to rocks and Siberian squill spread at the foot of a sleeping maple tree. And if a flower could laugh? It would sound like a daffodil.
Courtesy www.blogs.wyomingnews.com
Winter bulbs and perennials begin to join flowering shrubs, such as the winter jasmine dripping its yellow blooms and the thick leaves of an evergreen shouting bundles of red buds. And the camelia, with its cheerful roselike face, brightens any drizzly day.
Courtesy www.farm1.static.flickr.com
Many early-spring branches also hold bold colorful berries that puncture the whites and earth tones of a winter waned. The fruit of the firethorn ignites in blazing oranges on its glossy green leaves, and crimson berries congregate on the braided stems of rockspray.
Brilliant whites, metallic browns and unexpected yellow, coral-red and purple travel the barks of trees and shrubs, often otherwise overlooked. Textured trunks invite hands to touch the shaggy patches and papery ribbons that flake and peel. The white skin of birch trees curls back in sheets to reveal its many layers, and light-brown rings climb up the dark burnished bark of the Japanese flowering cherry.
Fragrance also finds its way into the first days of the season, when you breathe in the garden, bringing it—and yourself—to life. In any month of the year, just pinch off a few pine needles and rub them between your fingers for a whiff of the woods. But it’s only spring’s scent that wafts from lilacs and lilies of the valley, grape hyacinths and plum blossoms.
"Pink Explosion" (Photo and copyright by Paul Loney)
March, April and May will pass as quickly as winter months seemed to last forever. So stop to smell the cherry tree’s floral arrival and really listen to the small peepings of a nuthatch. Feel in your palms the rough-skinned trunk of a shagbark hickory and linger with the oak’s naked, budding branches casting their tangled black net into a sea of sky. Then look down into those rainy puddles. There you’ll see it—spring reflected in its promise of even warmer months to come.
Photo and copyright by Peter Preece
© Claire Sykes. All rights reserved.
