You listened

A few days ago I asked you to take a moment and listen, because if you do,

you will hear spring coming.

Many people stopped what they were doing and listened. Some could hear it clearly, some could not hear anything over the roaring winds, and snow storms. Your comments are wonderful.

For those who cannot hear it yet, I just ask that you be patient. It will come, soon. And those who are hearing spring loud and clear, share it with us. We all need a change of seasons right about now.

How did we do it?

We are enjoying a surprise visit, from Turf toter, Farmer Tim, and my nephew, Mountain Boy. We love having them visit us, and we are all having a good time. This is a small condo, with only 1 bathroom, 5 people, you do the math. We all make it work. But it does bring to mind, the times when all the out of town relatives would come and visit us when Turf toter and I were kids. Our parents both come from a large family, with lots and lots of Aunties, and Uncles, and tons of cousins. All those large families would come and stay for a extended vacation in our childhood home. In our house with one bathroom. And no one seemed to mind.

How did we do it? Sometimes there were three families staying at our house, over Christmas, and maybe a set of Grandparents. We all managed, but maybe I have a faulty memory. Or maybe the good memories have blocked out the waiting at the door, desperate to be let in. Please! I gotta gooooooooo. I am sure there was some juggling with the bathroom, the one tub, and all those people. But I don't remember any complaints. Just hoards of cousins, huge dinners, and lots of camaraderie.

Can you hear it?

There is a sound, and if you listen carefully you can hear it. It is the sound of spring starting to happen. It is the sound of seed catalogues being delivered to mailboxes. It is the sound of delight, of gardeners dreaming, envisioning, and planning. It is the sound of bulbs pushing forth through the frozen soil, and the sap sluggishly moving in trees. It is the sound of clouds bringing spring rain moving across mountains, and valleys, turning from harsh winter snow, into gentle moisture. There are pencils scribbling, as gardens are being redesigned, wish lists are made, and seeds are being ordered. Computers are whirring, as garden blogs bloom, and cameras are coming out of hibernation. In some places the sound is louder, spring is well on it's way. In others it is barely a thought, not even yet a whisper. But it will continue to gather strength. When the last snow shovel is placed in the gardening shed, when the gardening gloves replace the mittens. You will hear it. It is spring, for all of us.

In case you need a little more incentive

Just to prompt you to get out and acquire your own amaryllis. And because mine is more fully opened now, I wanted to share these photos with you. Buy one in a pot, that is tightly budded, you will be enjoying the blooms in a week or so. If you are lucky, it may even repeat the performance, with another bud forming.

If at first you don't succeed...... buy another

There's a interesting thing about Amaryllis accidents, remember what happened to my other beauty? I moved it to a shelf in preparation to photograph it, and it toppled. Top heavy, tipsy, topsy turvey. What ever you want to call it, down it went, and it's smelly water went with it.

That was one relationship that went into the garbage. So I found another, a replacement, and wow is this one a beauty. Stunning candy pink, well behaved, great root system, and now it's blooming.

Every evening while I am couch sitting, I gaze at its radiant blossoms, the shimmering pink flowers chasing away the winter blues. This is a bulb that is worth waiting for, its exotic and enormous flowers are lovely to watch unfold. Everyone should have one in their house, and the time to have them is during the winter blah months. So quick, run out and buy yourself a amaryllis before they are all gone, you won't regret it.

Campbell Valley Park - A return

I love Campbell Valley Park, but I have not been back there for over two years. A gorgeous gem of natural habitat, ducks, paths, happy dog walkers, and horse trails meandering through streams, meadows, and forests. A stunning photo op around every corner. I did not have such bucolic memories of my last visit there.

Flowerishious and I decided to visit the popular park during a sunny spring day. It was only when we arrived back at my car, that we realized thieves had ransacked the inside, searching for something, and obtaining ......... nothing. They took nothing but, my confidence, my realization that even without valuables in my car, they would still break in, just because they could.

I was later told, that since my car was a older model it would always be a target, and that Campbell Valley park was a high break in occurrence.

I have not been back since, but Gar and I decided it was time to return to the scene of the crime so to speak, and take our chances. We were rather relieved to find my vehicle intact, when we returned from our walk. With Gar joking that it was too cold for thieves to hide in the bushes. We had a wonderful, if very chilly return, feeding the birds, and photographing all sorts of subjects. And the good memories of those little birds lighting on my hand even as I held the camera, have replaced the bad ones of my car.

Foggy Hoar Frost

Managing to capture some of natures special effects on leaves that were painted with frost before Christmas, I never thought I might see any thing like this again during this season.

But due to heavy fog, and freezing temperatures, my drive to work the other morning was full of spun sugar, and fairy icing. A magic wand had waved over the treetops, and gossamer webbing of ice covered everything. It looked as if the stage was set for a mid morning showing of the Nutcracker ballet.

Lovely, and cold, the effect lasted until the afternoon sun peaked out of the fog, and melted away the coating of ice. As much as I loved the chance to see this special showing, I must say "baby it's cold outside", and I don't think we need a repeat performance.

Those trees are not covered in fog, that is ice, all the way up.

Black and White Collage

I'm in the garden archives

Views of my garden from last summer.

A homesickness for spring.

I harbour in my heart this feeling, a yearning for spring. During the winter I have moments reminiscing about the day that it will become almost warm enough to go out into the garden. The down fill vest warming my body, my hands tingling from the dampness in the air that lingers even with the bright new spring sunshine. Scraping off the dead leaves that have camouflaged the dormant perennials, their winter jacket of protection, searching for green shoots, the signs of life.

Walking through parks, looking up at branches swelling with a promise of buds, the smell of fresh green in the air, renewal is immanent. Sunny spots sheltering tiny purple crocus, the white flash of snow drops signifying it truly has arrived. The joy of the scented aura that clings to you when you go back inside. Fresh new green. There is a homesickness in my heart, it yearns for Spring, because it is where I truly belong.

A Spring chicken in a gray daze

I will admit to being rather happy with the fact that I don't look my age. It certainly is not something I would brag about, but quietly I love it. I was still in my early thirties the last time I was was carded at a pub. The lighting was very poor, she was young, and most likely carded everyone. But still, it was useful when it came time to tease older, more gray haired friends.

Gar's beard is gradually graying, while the rest of him is still in incredible shape, due to the weights he lifts every day, and the miles he runs. But I still occasionally tease him about his expanding gray streaks, his reply is that it is a sign of maturity. He is getting more mature by the day.

Now in my mid forties, it seems I am paying the price for all that gentle teasing.

Suddenly this spring chicken's age has come home to roost, and my maturity is showing. At first I plucked the few manageable gray hairs. Then there was a population explosion of gray that multiplied, and migrated to all over my head, and I started to worry. I love gray hair, I think that it looks wonderful. But on another person's head.

I am just not ready to be older. Yet. I am to young to be middle aged, how did this happen?

If anyone has any answers, please leave me a comment, I am off to the hairdresser's for a emergency appointment.

Fog and Flowers

With all the fog we have been having, and before that the snow, my photographic subject matter was severely limited. But I look forward to my "fresh air day", as one when I take the camera out for a spin, exercising my creativity while working at the nursery.

Every time a new shipment of fresh from the greenhouse plants come in, out comes the camera, and the wallet. Working here is just too tempting, something is bound to catch your eye.

One of my early spring favorites is Primula obconica. While not hardy, they do make a great indoor houseplant, and can go outside during the warm weather in a shady spot

And when they show up, it means that spring is definitely around the corner.

Anyone have any signs of spring yet? Let me know, I think we are all ready for it.

There be monsters

The gray dank fog that shrouds the beach is both eerie, and cold. Effectively hiding the water from sight. It is disturbing to hear voices speaking, and birds splashing but not be able to see anything. The sun tries dishearteningly to burn off fog halo's that are circling visitors heads, instead giving up to sulk behind a curtain of gloom. As sounds echo from the water, I am reminded of a quote I once saw on a antique map. "There be monsters", it referred to what was then considered the edges of a flat earth. It was thought that monsters lived below the ends, waiting to gulp up unsuspecting sailors. If they had encountered fog like this, then I could easily understand why they thought that. Tiring of the fog's icy, and inappropriate pinches, I return to my car. Hoping to find some sunshine that will burn off thoughts of monsters shrouded in fog.