Spring

Spring

That great awakening when Nature seems to stretch and yawn, sometimes pulling the covers over Her head and staying asleep for just a few more moments....

Like we sometimes do.

We grow impatient that She hasn't arrived in just the right way, just the perfect way that we wish for.  Instead She comes by stealth, tiptoeing from below the surface, stepping quietly behind us and tapping us on the shoulder...

Oh, there you are at last.

Bit by tiny bit we see Her presence in the buds on the trees, the turning of the grass from sleepy brown to wide awake green. We find Her scent in the air, and the windows on our homes fly open so we can take deep breaths and fill our lungs with freshness, 

And as She comes to life maybe we do, too.

Like an avalanche all around us we see the new, the little seeds becoming flowers and vegetables in our gardens, young birds taking flight from the nest for the first time, and we are overwhelmed by all the beauty,

As though we have never seen such sights before.

Ah, Spring...this time of coming back to life,of the miracle of growth, both in the world around us  - -  and within us.

From Little Acorns

I often take photographs of what I refer to as 'My Oak Tree'.  Of course the old oak tree isn't mine, it is part of nature.  The tree isn't even in my garden; it is in the garden beyond the bridle path that runs behind my house.  I am very fond of the tree and it provides beauty and interest throughout each of the seasons of the year.  It is now so large that its branches completely span the bridle path and reach into the back corner of my garden.

A recent comment on my blog mentioned that it was a shame about the ivy growing on the trunk because it would kill the tree.  I used to think that too but, since I first thought that several years ago, the tree has grown around 10 feet (3.048 meters) and I noticed many trees in Shropshire sharing their space with ivy so I have dismissed the idea.

After the recent blog comment I decided to check the facts. I found that ivy is not a parasite and it does not kill the tree. The aerial roots are not penetrative and the ivy's roots are firmly in the ground beneath the tree.  The relationship between tree and ivy is symbiotic.  The ivy attracts wildlife so the oak tree is always full of life. Visitors to my tree include blue tits, great tits, coal tits, wrens, sparrows, blackbirds, pigeons, insects and, on one memorable occasion, a poplar hawk-moth descended and settled on me just above my waist.  This was quite alarming because poplar hawk-moths are quite large (wingspan 65-90 mm).  Luckily it didn't flap around like moths normally do; it just glided in and came to rest gently.  It was coaxed off me and went to settle inside the kitchen for a short time before going back to its natural habitat outside.

I have both memories and photos of beautiful sunsets through the branches of the tree and of sitting in the garden watching the sun go down.  Of hearing the leaves rustle in the wind watching the seasons go by.  Of the rebirth of the leaves and buds in spring, the green of summer, the autumnal hues followed by the winter view.  The weather in autumn determines how quickly the dead leaves fall from the tree; in some years the winter view is bare branches or, in others, there is a golden glow throughout winter due to the leaves not falling from the branches.

I have always had a fondness for trees because of many childhood walks where my dad encouraged me to identify different trees by their bark and leaves. I have got a bit rusty on tree identification since then but I still enjoy woodland walks and immersing myself in the beauty of magnificent trees and the wildlife they attract.

Conversations From The Screened Porch

Every evening about 5:15 or so, my husband and I seem to gravitate to the screened porch for cocktail hour and conversation.  After a hectic day of retirement activities – crossword puzzles, errands, model cars, TV, etc. for him; photography, gardening, lunch with friends, internet, etc. for me – screened porch time has become somewhat of a ritual.  Other than my morning stroll through my garden, screened porch time is possibly one of my favorite times of the day.

Sometimes the conversations cover neighborhood issues:  a daily update on the progress of the new walking trails; neighborhood ‘gossip’; or talk about how our little area in greater Nashville is growing and changing. 

Other times sports will dominate the conversations:  Why weren’t the Titans successful in ‘wooing’ Peyton Manning to Nashville?  Will the Kentucky Wildcats ‘go all the way’ in the NCAA basketball tournament?  Or Are the grandsons signed up for soccer this season?

Sometimes - but rarely, if I have anything to say about it - the conversations will be political in nature. 

But this one afternoon the conversation went something like this:

ME:  “Remember the afternoon last fall we let Julia (our three year old granddaughter) help us plant the daffodils on the hill?  We were trying to naturalize the hillside and teach her a little about flowers.  You would dig the hole, she would carefully place the bulb, and I would cover the bulb.  She was so excited thinking about how ‘her’ flowers would bloom in the spring.  Didn’t we plant about 50 or so bulbs?”

HE:  (laughing) “And, the next morning we woke up to discover that something had dug out every one of the bulbs and left them scattered all over the hill!”

ME:  “I envisioned our hill a ‘sea’ of yellow this spring.  The three forsythia bushes we planted last spring in full bloom; Julia’s daffodils popping up everywhere…*sigh* oh well, maybe next year.”

HE:  “I was a little disappointed in the forsythia bushes this year.  I thought we would have more color.”

ME:  “My cousin told me ‘First year it sleeps; second year it creeps; third year it leaps.”

HE:  “Is that anything like “Lefty loosey; righty tighty?”

ME:  “Oh my.  What a fascinating life we lead…  Conversations about “Lefty loosey and righty tighty.  WE NEED A LIFE!”

And so it goes in our little part of the world. 

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Photo taken at Cheekwood Botanical Gardens – where the forsythia WAS in full color!