Bulbs in a Paper Bag

I have been slowly winding down the garden for the season. There hasn't been a frost yet, but it won't be long. One of my jobs this week was cutting back the Gladiolus murielae.

Gladiolus murielae

I have admired these flowers in other people's gardens. When I spotted some corms at the garden centre this spring, I decided to try my luck. It was a good choice. The flowers were fantastic with their white drooping heads held on tall, sturdy stalks about three feet tall. I don't think these tender bulbs would survive the harsh winter here, so I set about digging them up, cutting back the foliage, and putting the corms into storage.

Gladiolus murielae remind me of shorebirds.
Don't ask me why, they just do.

The process of collecting the bulbs and placing them into paper bags in the hope that they will bloom again reminded me of the cycles of the garden and the hopeful outlook of the gardener. This is the poem that came to mind.

Paper Bag Potential

Shake off the dirt

Give the roots a trim

Put the bulbs in a paper bag

Place in a box

Find a dark shelf

Persist through winter's icy lag

Open the bag

Inhale summer's scent

Witness flowers patiently wait

See the green sprouts

Dream of what is to come

Prepare to plant and celebrate

Bulbs in a paper bag

Here's to the potential of all the bulbs, corms, and seeds being collected and prepared for winter storage right now.

Happy Gardening!

The Impossibility of the Redbud Tree

There are so many flowering trees to enjoy during May. The cherry blossoms usually steal the show; the magnolias always make an excellent impression; and, the crabapples have a certain wow factor. For me, though, the Eastern Redbud is the star of the season. 

Eastern Redbud

Before the leaves appear, the Eastern Redbud will put on a spectacular display of bright pink blooms. When the small pea-like flowers fall to the ground, they are just as pretty, painting the garden beds and walkways magenta. I appreciate the redbud for its abundance of flowers. It is also not nearly so common in city settings as the cherry blossoms and magnolias, so a sighting seems extra special. As much as I love it, the tree presents me with a small dilemma.

Pink, pink, and more pink flowers

I love to take photographs of my garden. No matter how hard I try, however, I am never satisfied with my pictures of the redbud. There are good macro photos to be had of the blooms, no doubt, but capturing the character and spirit of the tree as a whole has been somewhat elusive for me. The difficulty in taking a satisfying photo prompted this poem.
  
The Impossibility of the Redbud Tree

The impossibility of the redbud tree

is found in the absence of photos

Four thousand six hundred nineteen

pictures on my phone

Not one among them capably captures

the magenta fireworks

The camera always poised to snap

Once

Twice

Three times

A thousand

Prolific pink on the screen

unattainable lacking incomplete

followed by a disappointed delete

Each erasure evidence of

the impossibility of the redbud tree

Rosy blooms on bare branches

soon crowded with heart-shaped leaves

best enjoyed unfettered

free of mobile technology

there not for the lens

but for my soul to sense

and my eyes to perceive

Another view of the redbud

Redbuds are among the most beautiful of spring flowering trees. Don't let my less-than-satisfactory pictures suggest otherwise.

Happy Gardening!

Cherry Blossoms: Just for Me

And just like that, cherry blossom season is over. This year, the Sakura in Toronto's High Park put on a stunning, if all too brief, display.

Luminescent cherry blossoms in High Park

Equally as stunning, the size of the crowds. I suppose the carnival-like atmosphere is understandable. The last two years of the pandemic have forced us all into a more isolated existence, so it really isn't a surprise that the chance to gather outdoors safely would be so welcomed.

Crowds gathered among the Sakura

On the lawn, and on the path.
Winter-weary, pandemic-fatigued
humans everywhere!

The cherry blossom experience prompted me to think back on previous spring viewings of these delicate flowers. While I'm certain there were other people around on these occasions, seeing the cherry blossoms always felt like a very personal and solitary event. The crowds changed that perception this year, and the result is this poem.

Cherry Blossoms: Just for Me

When did everyone discover

the cherry blossoms?

They used to be just for me

Petals of white like floating clouds

a shimmer of pink on the breeze

Beauty as told in fairly tales

transient as fast-fading dreams

The blossoms were my secret 

held close and rarely shared

lavish for a week or two

and then no longer there

The blossoms were mine alone

although there for all to see

The busy cosmos a distraction 

from the allure of a blooming tree

Then the world stopped.

Everyone retreated 

into their heads and into their homes

Trapped by walls and suddenly idle

an ache growing in restless bones

Release arrived two years on

in the rush of restive crowds

free among the Sakura trees

and cherry blossom shrouds 

Cherry blossoms on blue sky

It's nice to see people discover the beauty of nature, but I will selfishly admit that I wouldn't mind if the crowds went away. In a fast-growing city, that's unlikely. So, in the future, I will change my methods. A 4am wake-up for a 5am trip to the park may be what is required to recapture quiet moments among the Sakura.

Beautiful blossoms

Branches laden with flowers

Too many blossoms to count

A cherry blossom cloud

Until the cherry blossoms can be enjoyed again, pictures will have to do.

Happy Gardening!

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!