When new is scarce, gotta find surprise in the old.
Last November I divided the last clump of daffodils from bulbs I planted over 30 years ago. The others had died and this one had just about stopped blooming. So I separated and replanted. And forgot. When the green tips pushed up, I thought, “Oh no! They’ll never flower. I didn’t water!” Lo and behold, they didn’t care. I imagine them wiggling daffodil toes in new dirt.
Last year I planted a manzanita shrub in front of this Fountain o’ Phormium. When the pink manzanita flowers showed up this year, I thought, “Hey, they match the hellebore.” Then the cotoneaster in the back turned orange. All hail a pink and orange moment. Surprise!
Finally, just last week a Johnny jump-up followed its heart to this pot of succulents. Welcome, tiny cheerful transient.
Gardens do annoy me with their dogged teaching. But who am I to shut my ears?
Have a wonderful weekend.
7 Responses
I love those little garden “surprises.” Plants, man, they are indomitable.
I love this post. A bit of gardening is always worth doing–for the surprise factor alone! I’ve planted poppy seeds given to me by a daughter in law. Are they actually going to come up? Stay tuned!
I put some Trader Joe’s mini daffodils in the ground one year. (Well, I’ve moved them from pot to ground at some point, I think.) They keep coming up and surprising me. (I need to add, I have been unable to grow miner’s/Indian lettuce. No guarantees.)
Our backyard yellow crocuses are out in full force, which means spring is truly on its way! One of the great things about living in this Central Atlantic state is that spring is different every year, especially in the rate at which things come into bloom. My favorite is the rare spring when the dagwood begins to flower before other trees are in leaf, and you can see the delicate pink and white blossoms tracing like lace through the dull grey branches of otherwise forlorn woods.
But speaking as a Stanford alum, there is nothing like spring on The Quad, with the sweet scent of burgeoning orange blossoms wafting through the soft spring air…
Lisa, there is much uncertainty and sadness in the world right now. Your post is comforting. Looking forward to spring, whatever surprises it may bring.
Good afternoon! Forgot to comment on your last week’s post that I hoped your arms are better soon. Because I worked in editing/writing/research or the management thereof, I had friends and staff who had compromised hands or arms, or full-on carpel tunnel. One friend had to stop working entirely, another went the dictation route. She’s now pro-level. My dad had essential tremor, which made typing difficult for him in his 80s. He tried a circa 1990s early version of dictation software that refused to recognize his voice. Things have gotten better since then. My restlessness saved me from carpel tunnel. I can focus on a task and shut the world away, but my usual MO is to focus intensely for an amount of time, and then get up to talk to someone, get a drink of water, take a walk around the building. Presently, I try to take hourly breaks that involve walking and waving my arms about using light weights, or just running from one end of the house to the other. My restlessness has saved my arms, though I’ve come awfully close a couple of times to hurting them with nervous solitaire playing.
“Annoying garden lessons” makes me smile. Love your surprises and colors. You taught me a new plant name: Johnny jump-up, which I’d call a pansy or a wild pansy.
My best garden surprise moment: When I first moved to Palo Alto in the late 1980s, I rented what my real-estate investor brother-in-law called “a studio with a wall”. My unit was one of two up and two down in a charming off-street building behind a cottage in downtown PA. There was a wooden deck with a eucalyptus tree and a bougainvillea that wound through it directly outside my living room window. There was no garage, but there was an area of asphalt bordering an area of grass where we parked our cars. One spring day I noticed a mound pooching up out of the asphalt. It grew daily larger until green plant shoots broke through the surface. The green shoots unfurled into a cluster of calla lilies. I loved the idea of calla lilies under the black asphalt plotting their return to the sun. (The street cottage, off-street studios, and parking area are now three houses. The street house has 8 bedrooms and 5 baths and is valued at $5.2M, the 2 off-street houses are $4M+ each. I went to the open house for the two latter in 2010. They were each $1.9M. It’s an unbelievable shift that would have made me laugh in the 1980s. Now, not so much.)
Be well and weller my dear.
Success in the garden is rewarding; the failures, just that and disappointing. Your success this year is impressive. I love the little volunteer with the succulents. Finding joy these days is key.
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