A Winter-Weather Garden Surprise: Winter Aconite

The garden is an inspiration in so many ways. For example, it has been a source of motivation for me as I explore poetry. It also serves an inspiration to my partner who has been working on his watercolours. The other day, I came home to a painting he insisted was a crocus. I didn't recognize it as such, nor did I recognize it as any flower I have ever seen in my garden. 

Winter aconite watercolour painted
by my talented partner in life

On the coldest March 28th Toronto has seen in ninety-nine years, I went out to search for this mystery winter-weather bloomer, and I did not see a thing. I insisted my husband join me to point me in the right direction. He threw on some rubber boots, came outside, and pointed at my crocus drifts. When I showed him that the crocus flowers do not sit on a frilly green bed of foliage and that they are purple, he said "Oh, yeah." (Non-gardeners, am I right?) So we looked a little closer, and just a short distance away found what had been two apparently-significant volunteer clumps of winter aconite. Notice the past tense. Not even these hardy, determined winter bloomers could withstand the day's brutal temperatures (it felt like -17 degrees celsius with the wind chill). The plants had shrivelled in the deep freeze. I was disappointed, but fortunately my husband took a picture earlier in the week to use as reference.

Winter aconite blooming through snow

The appearance of these small flowers (even though I failed to see them for myself) brought about this poem.

Winter Aconite

Push aside the detritus

Disturb the leaf debris

Poke through winter’s wreck

Shine for all to see

Buttercups of yellow

Choirboy ruffs of green

Throttle winter’s poison

With your brilliant golden sheen

Winter conditions continue in the city. I hope to see some defiant winter aconites very soon announcing the imminent arrival of gardening weather.

Happy Gardening!

Reluctant Crocus: A Haiku

March always gives me so much hope, and then it reminds me just a quickly that my hope was misguided. March 2022 has been brutal: cold, grey, and rainy. Crocuses have started to appear in the garden, but they have yet to really shine, staying tightly wrapped up against the elements.

Crocus enduring the March cold

My eager anticipation for my favourite spring flower got me thinking about how these small flowers seem disinclined to make an appearance in the miserable conditions we have been experiencing. Who can blame them? Since there are not many words that rhyme with crocus, my thoughts came out in the form a haiku.

Reluctant Crocus

Reluctant crocus

closed against lingering gloom

patient for star glow 

Colourful crocus waiting for warmth

Against my better judgement, I am holding on to hope that the crocuses will open wide and paint a tapestry of pastels across the garden floor in the week to come.

Happy Gardening!

Sugar Shack

The first sign of spring this year comes not from a flower but from the sugar bush. Temperatures above zero degrees during the day and below zero degrees at night are a good sign the sap is flowing.

The sugar bush waiting to be tapped

I'm lucky enough to be able to contribute to a small, family-run maple syrup operation every spring. My contribution is modest—wash a few buckets, rinse a few lids, tap a few trees, keep an eye on the dog—but the reward is significant: as many bottles of delicious, pure maple syrup as I can carry home.

Buckets ready to collect the sap

No matter the number of years the family has been doing this, the first tap and the first drop of sap are always a delight to experience. After yet another year of pandemic restrictions that forced us to stick close to home, being in nature for the annual tapping felt especially freeing.

Sap drips from a spile

The start of this year's maple syrup operation inspired the following poem. It doesn't follow any particular rhyme or pattern. It simply tries to capture the experience of walking into the sugar bush; of preparing the equipment needed to tap the trees, to collect the sap, and to boil it down; and, after a long, slow boil, enjoying the resulting maple syrup. 

Sugar Shack

Down the forest path
beyond the frozen pond
where the bullfrogs
soon will croak their summer song

Across the crooked bridge
over the cold swollen creek
trickles of snowmelt
run fast and deep

Crunch of ice underfoot
crack of a dying season
the woodland is aroused
with a purpose and a reason

Red maples tower in the bush
white trilliums sleep at their feet
Springtime’s gift is waiting
to flow so pure and sweet

Swing open the doors
of the sugar shack
Wash the buckets
rinse the lids
count the hooks
Look to the trees
drill and hammer in hand
Look to the sun
for warmth
Tap the spile gently
until the sap spills
Collect the elixir
from pails overfilled
Let sticky smoke rise
from the midnight boil
Morning’s reward
ready to taste
a thanks for your sugary toil

The sugar shack and sap bucket

From the sugar bush, here's wishing you all a sweet spring.

Happy Gardening!

I Belong in the Trees: Reflections of a Grocery-Store Orchid

For the second year in a row, my moth orchid is ready to bloom. The buds are plumping up and, just like last year, the flowers will provide a much-needed splash of colour through the never-ending month of February.

Plump orchid buds will be blooming any day

This is quite the achievement for an orchid purchased in a grocery store. Many people will pick one up already in full bloom, enjoy the long-lasting flowers, and then unceremoniously dump the plant when the flowers have faded. Confession: I have been guilty of this myself, but I am working hard to change my ways.

Moth orchid in full bloom (February 2021)

The ease with which some see these plants as disposable got me thinking about orchids. Do they long for their natural habitat? Are they aware of where they come from; of what might have been for them? It made me wonder whether orchids wish they could be more than they are. These plants are often described as exotic and elegant. Are they truly that if they are limited by their circumstances—in this case, their existence on a grocery-store shelf? All of these thoughts resulted in the following poem.

I Belong in the Trees: Reflections of a Grocery-Store Orchid

I belong in the trees

                               stretching

searching for the sun

through dappled light

                               breathing

absorbing the lush heat

of my tropical genesis

                               climbing

ascending on branches

that anchor me to the rainforest

                               clasping

laying hold of surrendered origins

long abandoned to a clear plastic pot

I belong in the trees

                              bending

bridging the distance

between reality and my imagination

I am looking forward to many weeks of colourful blooms from my grocery-store orchid.

Happy Gardening!

The Garden on My Windowsill

Every year when the temperature drops, I attempt (usually unsuccessfully) to overwinter and propagate some plants. This year, herbs in a strawberry planter and begonia and coleus cuttings are growing by the light of the kitchen door and windows (I don't want to talk about the osteospermum and geraniums faltering in the upstairs window). Caring for these plants and encouraging them to grow is a far cry from being out in the sun and gardening in the backyard, but until the sunshine and warm temperatures return, my windowsill garden will have to do.

Herbs, begonias, and coleus in my windowsill garden.
Pancake plant is a bonus

While watering the other day and checking for signs of new life, it occurred to me that these small plants and cuttings are under a lot of pressure.They are growing in less than ideal conditions (probably not warm enough by the back door, and probably not enough light), and yet I expect a lot from them. They carry the legacy of last year's garden and the hope for next year's garden. That's a heavy load for a little plant.

New growth on a red begonia

As I thought about my own anticipation for spring and the hopes I placed into each of the small pots in kitchen, a poem came to mind.

The Garden on My Windowsill

The garden on my windowsill bears the burden

of my eclipsed summer spirit

restless in the cold grey of dark January days

Potted cuttings radiate warmth and colour

standing as sentries against the sudden slump

of my passion and my lifeblood 

Clippings rooted in still water

quench a constant thirst for spring

and absorb my daydreams of green

Of winding climbers that spiral toward blue skies

and creepers that hold the earth close

Of heirlooms that carry a history

and flower beds brimming and grandiose

Of birdbaths alive with splashing and song

and bees dancing above a rainbow of blooms

Of slow walks along brick herringbone paths

on barefoot days under the sun and the moon

The garden on my windowsill relieves the weight of winter

lifting me into the harmony of memories and visions

lighting the cold grey of dark January days

The bright lime green of a coleus cutting
brightens my windowsill

It won't be long before these plants can be transplanted back into the garden (provided I don't fail them before that).  

Happy Gardening!