After a sluggish and hesitant prologue, the phases of our Northern Virginia spring have been moving right along at a rapid and regular clip. We still wake up to the occasionally chilly morning, but there have been no recent dips below freezing. Spring now has a spring in its step.
As the branches of the earlier blooming cherry trees were greening, the ground beneath them being transformed into a carpet of pink petals, the next wave of blossoms, darker in color, was peaking.
The bright fuchsia buds of our Appalachian Redbud always take their good sweet time in emerging. When they appeared, they were as brilliant and jewel-like as ever.
Last spring, a bitter cold snap blasted the buds of the camellia that nestles in a corner of my mother’s house. This year we were treated to a show of lush red flowers.
Spring in three layers: camellias and fuchsia blossoms against a backdrop of weeping cherry.
In October I planted some sixty daffodil bulbs in a barren mulch patch beneath a black walnut tree in our front yard. All winter I kept my eye on the area, watching for the first shoots of spiky foliage to emerge from the snow. I love the optimism implied in planting bulbs. It’s assuring to remember that even in the depths of winter, regenerating forces are at work, beneath the ground and even in the frigid air. When I spot those first green tips, usually in early February, I never fail to be surprised, yet comforted by such faithful heralds of the spring. The first daffodils to bloom were the smallest, the Tete-a-Tete miniatures. As their golden heads bobbed in fierce March winds, they were the picture of cheery perkiness. Following soon were the tall, bold Trumpet Masters, the type I remember from old Easter coloring books. Next appeared some fancy double blooms. With ruffled petals in shades of apricot and pale yellow, this variety reminds me of Cinderella dressed for the ball.
The last to join the daffodil band were several pink cupped varieties, simple but elegant with their delicate shadings and crimped-edged centers. The mulch patch has plenty of room for more inhabitants. This fall, if things go as planned, I’ll add another sixty bulbs.
Wild violets tend to pop up fortuitously around the grape hyacinths I planted two years ago. These kindred spirits pair well in mini bouquets.
Our rhododendron is currently putting on an exuberant show.
As are the azaleas. In red. . .
White. . .
On this second day of May, our Japanese maples glow fiery red in the sun. The old silver maples have sent forth their multitudes of angel-winged seed pods. Our trellis roses will be budding any day now. The air smells of lilac, laurel, locust blossoms and honeysuckle. Spring’s final phase is at the ready. The warmth of the morning anticipates summer, and Kiko, still in his winter fur, seeks the shade.