Welcome to Spring

What a difference a month makes!  On February 5th, I was recording the aftermath of a sudden snowfall.

On March 6th, the same crocus were luxuriating in spring sunshine. 

By mid-month, the black willow (Salix gracilistyla 'Melanostachys') was at its prettiest and a considerable contrast to its bedraggled black February buds.

The back garden is still a long way from its summer profusion, but the beginnings of growth are visible everywhere.

One of my most successful corners at this time of year has quite a few early flowers competing for attention. Under the pale yellow canopy of Corylopsis pauciflora, fading winter aconites and snowdrops have given way to several hellebores and the blue, daisy-like Anemone blanda.

A single golden Erythronium is in bloom behind clumps of double white primula 'Dawn Ansell', which is just showing buds. In another couple of days, they and the delicate wands of Tulipa turkestanica will fill in some gaps.

The little anemone is a spreader and will, I hope, eventually fill in more of the gaps.

 Its drawback is that it disappears completely by summer, which means I need to find it a later-blooming companion able to live in harmony with it.

On the other side of the back garden, Narcissus 'Jack Snipe' has just leapt into flower.

This is such a good performer, expanding its flower production every year. Back here among the raspberry canes, its dying foliage will be rapidly obscured by the leafy growth of perennials in front of it.

Meanwhile, along the side of the house, fresh leaves on Schizophragma hydrangeoides 'Moonlight' are brightening the very dark alley.

Perhaps this will be the year that this climbing hydrangea relative will bloom for the first time. Even if it doesn't, the marbled foliage will provide some interest here, as will the cyclamen planted below. I've planted both spring-blooming Cyclamen coum and fall-blooming Cyclamen hederifolium to make the most of a narrow strip of earth in a very shady location.

Welcome to Spring

What a difference a month makes!  On February 5th, I was recording the aftermath of a sudden snowfall.

On March 6th, the same crocus were luxuriating in spring sunshine. 

By mid-month, the black willow (Salix gracilistyla 'Melanostachys') was at its prettiest and a considerable contrast to its bedraggled black February buds.

The back garden is still a long way from its summer profusion, but the beginnings of growth are visible everywhere.

One of my most successful corners at this time of year has quite a few early flowers competing for attention. Under the pale yellow canopy of Corylopsis pauciflora, fading winter aconites and snowdrops have given way to several hellebores and the blue, daisy-like Anemone blanda.

A single golden Erythronium is in bloom behind clumps of double white primula 'Dawn Ansell', which is just showing buds. In another couple of days, they and the delicate wands of Tulipa turkestanica will fill in some gaps.

The little anemone is a spreader and will, I hope, eventually fill in more of the gaps.

 Its drawback is that it disappears completely by summer, which means I need to find it a later-blooming companion able to live in harmony with it.

On the other side of the back garden, Narcissus 'Jack Snipe' has just leapt into flower.

This is such a good performer, expanding its flower production every year. Back here among the raspberry canes, its dying foliage will be rapidly obscured by the leafy growth of perennials in front of it.

Meanwhile, along the side of the house, fresh leaves on Schizophragma hydrangeoides 'Moonlight' are brightening the very dark alley.

Perhaps this will be the year that this climbing hydrangea relative will bloom for the first time. Even if it doesn't, the marbled foliage will provide some interest here, as will the cyclamen planted below. I've planted both spring-blooming Cyclamen coum and fall-blooming Cyclamen hederifolium to make the most of a narrow strip of earth in a very shady location.

Hail and fare well

 Late on Sunday afternoon, a sudden hailstorm blanketed the garden in white.

Fortunately, the pellets of ice were semi-soft rather than hard little bullets. 

Although they refused to melt for 24 hours, allowing me to take these photos the following morning, they didn't have much effect on the spring bulbs.

Everything seems to have fared well. Snowdrops, daffodils, crocus and even hellebores all withstood the beating without any obvious damage.

Hail and fare well

 Late on Sunday afternoon, a sudden hailstorm blanketed the garden in white.

Fortunately, the pellets of ice were semi-soft rather than hard little bullets. 

Although they refused to melt for 24 hours, allowing me to take these photos the following morning, they didn't have much effect on the spring bulbs.

Everything seems to have fared well. Snowdrops, daffodils, crocus and even hellebores all withstood the beating without any obvious damage.

The Garden Wakes Up.. and Sleeps Again

February began with such promise.

All the winter aconites opened in a brief spell of sunshine.

The first hellebores also leapt into bloom. 'Cherry Blossom' is not only among the earliest, but also one of the strongest and most prolific.

Helleborus 'Cherry Blossom'

'Rachel', another sturdy performer, has to cope with being in the much shadier north-facing garden at the front of the house, but is never far behind.

Helleborus 'Rachel'

The sun also coaxed a few daffodils out. 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation' is a classic yellow that wouldn't be very sensational at all except that it really does live up to the early part of its name and flowers a good month before most of its family.

In the background, a first snowdrop is trying to compete but a few clumps of doubles have beaten it to the punch. It's a pity that you can't tell that they are double unless you put a finger under their chin and tip their faces up.

However, as I write all that encouraging promise of spring has been blotted out, at least for now. Today has brought a fresh spell of snow, so soft and damp that the garden looks as if it's been sprayed with fire retardant.

The Garden Wakes Up.. and Sleeps Again

February began with such promise.

All the winter aconites opened in a brief spell of sunshine.

The first hellebores also leapt into bloom. 'Cherry Blossom' is not only among the earliest, but also one of the strongest and most prolific.

Helleborus 'Cherry Blossom'

'Rachel', another sturdy performer, has to cope with being in the much shadier north-facing garden at the front of the house, but is never far behind.

Helleborus 'Rachel'

The sun also coaxed a few daffodils out. 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation' is a classic yellow that wouldn't be very sensational at all except that it really does live up to the early part of its name and flowers a good month before most of its family.

In the background, a first snowdrop is trying to compete but a few clumps of doubles have beaten it to the punch. It's a pity that you can't tell that they are double unless you put a finger under their chin and tip their faces up.

However, as I write all that encouraging promise of spring has been blotted out, at least for now. Today has brought a fresh spell of snow, so soft and damp that the garden looks as if it's been sprayed with fire retardant.

New Year's Resolution

The last several months of 2019 were a busy time for me and so, although I took photos as the garden moved from the bright colours of summer into the jewel tones of fall, I never found the time to post them.

My resolution for 2020 is to keep this record going with at least one post every month. We shall see.



A heavy snowfall to start the year off left little to see.

Still, I was surprised at how well the oak leaf hydrangea weathered its load, considering that it hadn't dropped its autumn leaves. Their russet tints made a nice contrast with their caps of snow at a time when any colour at all is welcome.

Of course, the snow only enhanced structural plants like our ancient pear.

Without the snow, its coating of lime-green moss and blue-grey lichen continues to keep it attractive, particularly to birds like juncos and chickadees who pick their way through the branches in search of edible tidbits.

My homemade chickadee nesting box on the trunk has only once been occupied in five years, but I put it out every winter in hopes of new residents.



Along the front of the house, we piled snow from the sidewalk against the bottom of the lavender hedge to try to support the somewhat brittle stems. They will need an additional pruning this spring to bring them back to a compact shape.

Rather to my surprise, the stems of Sedum 'Autumn Joy' in the bed behind the lavender are demonstrating an unsuspected sturdiness. This is such a good plant for year-round value. Here it is last fall with leaves turning yellow and flowers deepening from sultry pink to dark crimson.

The flowers are a rich brown now, nothing special at any other time of year but a pleasing contrast to so much winter grey and white.



Fortunately, the weather has warmed in the last few days and the snow has melted rapidly to reveal signs of spring already. Winter aconites (Eranthis hyemalis) are always first to bloom, ahead of even the snowdrops. This is not really surprising once you know that "hyemalis" means "of winter". (When I studied Latin in school, I had no idea what an asset it would be to me as a gardener later in life.)

There are buds on most of the hellebores too, though H. 'Jacob', the only one that has opened so far, has been stripped of every bloom by slugs. Still there are other, more resistant ones on the verge of flowering, like 'Pink Frost' and a plant that I bought, sad and unlabelled in a big box store clearance, that is responding well to better conditions. I think might be 'Jade Tiger'.

Hellebore 'Pink Frost'

Hellebore 'Jade Tiger'?

Perhaps the most consistently satisfying plant in this gloomy season has been Mahonia 'Winter Sun'.

When it first began to bloom in late October, my 'Lykkefund' rose was wreathing it in festive red berries.

The flowers are falling now, but it's still a cheerful sight and still draws an occasional hummingbird to siphon off the last of its nectar.