It Groweth, the Garden

Now, finally, the garden begins to look like, well - a garden. The perennials are thrusting upward. The peonies have shot up in no time at all, and have already set their flower heads. The roses are throwing up their new growth, the Canterbury bells have proliferated everywhere. Last year's California poppies have seeded, and so too those wonderful red/orange/pink poppies, although it'll be quite a while before they flower. The delphiniums have all sprouted nicely and some of already have their immature flower heads proudly spiking to maturity.

Our magnolia tree is slowly unfolding its huge, spectacular bright pink floral display. The lungwort has spread beautifully, sending its sprays of blue flowers all about itself, meeting the violet flowers of the violets! The bergenia, spread here and there in our various beds and borders are flaunting their spectacular pink floral stalks. The spurge is now flowering, its tiny white floral heads sprinkled generously above the splayed green of its creeping presence.

The jade crab tree and the Sargentii crabs are speckled with tiny pink buds, soon to open to a glorious display of flowers. Our plum tree and our three apple trees have succumbed to the glory of springtime excess, with pink-white blossoms covering their branches. The lupin are busy growing at a rate not to be believed. Our clematis vines are creeping upward on their way to lush growth, and some have paused to develop their first flower buds.

The grape hyacinth have opened their luscious little grape-flowers, and the bright orange blossoms of the Japanese quince mark their colourful counterpoint. The various tinted, textured, various-sized hostas are now unfolding their leaves, pleasing me no end, adding to the architecture and the sheer unadulterated pleasure of their garden company. I have tucked in a wax begonia here and there in the understory of shrub and trees, and here and there dianthus. Cosmos is given space where their bright height will enliven the garden further.

Today, however, marked time to plant the many garden containers since surely all fear of nighttime frost has now left this area... The pots, ceramic, clay, stone urns have all been prepared, filled with soil and compost and I dig blood meal carefully into the mixture in preparation for their receipt of these tender annuals. The flats of tuberous begonias which we'd sheltered in the garden shed for over a week will now find their permanent summer home.

White, red, pink, yellow and orange, the colours leap out, demanding to be noticed, the paper-waxy petals stunning in their perfection. They will be accompanied in their container landscapes with startling blue lobelia, and perfect white lobelia, with tiny pink-flowered baby's breath, with ivy, with creeping jenny to hang down from those pots seen from their pedestaled heights. The Gerbera daisies, so utterly perfect they look unreal, a yellow one, a red one, inhabit their very own sun-kissed pots.

Hours later, many hours later, after the sweeping up, the watering, the tidying away of tools, the job, at least for the day, is done, and there is pleasing colour and the promise of much more to gladden our souls.