Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day: March

That lucky Carol. Apparently May Dreams Gardens is laughing up some flowers for her to enjoy. If any flowers are laughing out in my yard, I can't hear them--they're muffled by all of the snow that still remains!

But it is Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, and since Carol started the fun for all of us, I suppose that she's entitled to her spring symphony of garden giggling. As for me, I feel like I'm still mired in the depths of winter... but I'm trying to notice the little details of spring this year, and so I'm enjoying the fresh yellow-green new growth on my potted bay laurels.

I also gave all of my potted rosemary a good trim--the poor things were clambering over any other plants in their path, trying desperately to get just a little bit closer to the sunny South window. (Next year, I'm going to try to overwinter them all in the ground instead. I'm running out of room indoors!)

My Ides of March is not entirely bloomless, however. The abutilon megapotanicum that I replanted a month or so ago has rewarded me by flushing out a few dozen more blooms!

The blooms are very bright and cheery, but as you can see here against my hand they are also small, delicate things. En masse on the plant, they really light up the east window in my dining room--and although they are not as big and bright as some of the hybrid parlor maples, they are very handsome in a lovely quiet way.

I have come up with a few container schemes that involve planting this abutilon in my huge urn, probably with some kind of armature on which to grow and be trained. (It currently has a hoop setup in this pot, but has already been looped around it twice and is starting to make loop #3!)

I haven't quite come up with a planting idea for the urn that makes me think, "Yes! That's what I'm going to do this spring!" just yet. But with all of the snow still on the ground here... well, it's nice to still be working on planting plans, instead of having spring fever AND being anxious to start digging in the dirt to fulfill all of my grandiose plans! Right?

Buried

Apparently "Buried" is what comes after "Encased." This beats last year's Easter storm hands down:

One of my infamous lions, the mailwoman's training gate, and a tiny sprig of Northern sea oats, chasmantium latifolium. The only other plant life that can be seen in my front yard is the top 2/3 of the Japanese maple--the snow is so deep that you can't see my mountain laurel, doublefile viburnum, bank of hollies, etc.

And in the midst of the biggest storm in recent memory, we get to "spring forward" timewise tonight. How ironic! :)

Encased

In the real dark night of the soul, it is always March 5th,
day after day...
(my apologies to F. Scott Fitzgerald)

These baptisia seedpods look much the way I feel right now mentally:
Encased, suspended, immobile.

But don't they look cool? Sights like these always make me thankful that I am not in a hurry to clean up my garden in the fall. If I did more than just the cleanup necessary for hygiene reasons (rose and tomato foliage, etc.) then this area of the garden would be a blank white void today. Instead, I get to enjoy iced branches and seedpods. And grasses.

Here is carex buchanii sporting a new winter 'do. Can't you just see plant hybridizers trying to come up with a grass that looks like it has dreadlocks ("Coolio" hair grass doesn't count, in spite of its name) for use in containers and modern gardens?

I admit, I'd be tempted to buy it.
I could never carry them off, but I think that dreads are beautiful on many people. Why not in the garden?

I'd been planning to give the Japanese maple (above) a judicious pruning in the spring. Maybe Ma Nature is getting a head start... if she is, I hope I agree with her aesthetics.

The ice on the neighbor's beech tree is thicker than the coating on my Japanese maple. I'm always fascinated by the thick buds on the beech... they have such presence that you notice them from afar. Like drop earrings worn against a bare neck, with your hair in an updo. Elegant drama.

Does anyone else see ice-coated branches and feel tempted to brush up against them just to see whether they shatter?

I never would do it, of course, but I'm always tempted. And I know that ice can be destructive but somehow I fail to feel dismayed when I see it in my yard.

Must be something about the way it turns everything around me into a crystalline wonderland, and sets shafts of sunlight ablaze with a million twinkles.

Ice can't be all bad if it brings some beauty into your world during what has felt like the. absolute. longest. winter. ever. Right?