Springing

Yes, I’m sure it is, spring and springing, that is. Almost all the snow is gone, except for where it was piled deeply, or in the more shadowy protected areas. And we’re in that odd space where all the dead grass on the surface is bone dry, and the ground beneath, either frozen or deep sucking mud. It can be deceptively alluring, but one is wise to look one where steps, and to wear your wellies or ducks. (Of course, I can never convince myself to take enough time to do that, and will suddenly find myself halfway from point a to b, thinking oops! Where do I put my foot down now?

I’m definitely finding it hard to come up with the energy to poke at the wretched computers, so just keep hoping that nothing suddenly explodes. (Metaphorically-speaking.)

I should have been taking time-lapse photographs of my first mini-daff yesterday. At one crossing of the yard, I noted that it was actually nearing blossoming, and that there was a definite sense of yellow in the budshape. A few hours later, and the ruffle edge of the bell was visible. Then later in the afternoon, when Darrell was out cutting branches off our poor old tired apple trees, I noticed that it was now open enough to tell it WAS a daffodil! Though so tiny! Yes, these are the mini-variety, but what seems to happen in our pseudo-soil is that eventually they just get smaller and smaller, until they’re really micro-daffs.
And there was also tiny blue slivers of what will soon be Scylla. (I have a certain fondness for them, as they’re one of the first plants I put in when we moved here. And that I haven’t put in since. So I know this is the same crowd, so to speak. And they have expanded and spread. Not much, but some.

I should explain that our property has an esker running through it. Which is why it, and the other half-lot next door were given to the church, early in the 20th century. Not prime agricultural land. But it does mean that our soil is a mix of clay and some sand and lots and lots of stones and rocks. And not a lot of soil! It’s also got a high water table, and part of it is flood-plain for the Saugeen at the foot of the property. And it gets absolutely pounded by snow in the winter. So things have to be really tough to make it here. When we moved here, there were the few stunted and gnarly old apple trees along the drive, three reasonably-sized cedars along the back of the house, and one huge old evergreen of the soft-needled variety. And then a handful of smaller spruce dotted about.
In the decade and a half we’ve been here, we’ve transplanted a large crowd of roadside clearance spruce, (the ones marked for execution! We’re kind of like one those rescue homes for greyhounds, but for trees!) and two willows, that despite the best efforts of the damnable beavers, are actually looking like trees, and some sad attempts at oak, walnut and elm. Roadside rescue trees seem to value their second chance and do well here. To the point where we now have some impressive little stands, and they’re even self-seeding a second generation everywhere the eye can see! That, and cedarlings.

But anything not of the tough and determined variety has a hard time. Oh, and hops! We’ve managed to build a solid base of hops. They’re so satisfying and climb-y. And nice because they’re not destructive the way other climbers can be. Messy and pernicious, sure, but not destructive, just talented.
But other plants have a harder time of it.
When we first moved here, I put in the Scylla, a bunch of daffodils, and a lot of crocii. Nothing happened. For several years. I continued to put in crocii and daffs. Nothing happened. Then finally, several years later, we started seeing some spring flowers. There were a number of clumps of daffs, and I’ve continued to add them every year. There’s the Scylla, which covers a teeny bit more ground now, and my one solitary bunch of purple crocii. (sigh.) I’ve had at least one grape hyacinth come back, and I think I’ve found it again this year. But of the endless wild flowers and poppies and anything else I’ve tried so hard to start….? Nada!

On the plus side, there have been a few inexplicable additions, pop up of their own accord. There’s been a few clumps of star-of-Bethlehem, which is a delicate white star of a flower, on a slender grassy stalk. For two years now there’s been a small grouping of yellow loosestrife, (not related to purple loosestrife). I have no idea where it came from and why it was suddenly there. Though the odd coincidence is that in the yard next door, which had been slaved over by the previous owners, there was fabulous banks of it. Unfortunately, the new owners ruthlessly mowed down all the prairie garden aspects. And it wasn’t till a year later that my batch first showed up, on the far side of our house, AWAY from Larry’s ‘blasted heath’.
And a number of years ago, for one season, we suddenly developed a blackberry bush, with enough berries to harvest! The next year it was gone again. (I wish I’d made some note of the specific year, in case there was something portentous that might have explained this alien visitation!)

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