Spring is Yellow

 Of course, there are other colours in spring gardens, particularly the bright greens of emerging foliage, but it always strikes me how many April flowers are rich or pale reflections of the sunshine we also welcome to our gardens at this time of year.

Daffodils are a spring staple and I've already enthused over 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', which has almost gone before the end of March.

Just as it fades, 'Jack Snipe' opens.

I like this narcissus for its airy presence, as if it's on the point of taking flight. Being less bold in both size and colour than Rijnveld's creation, it blends better with other delicate spring hues. Another attribute is how quickly it forms large clumps, allowing me to spread it around the garden, as well as give some away to other gardeners.

This is also prime time for Corylopsis pauciflora, which is anchoring a corner by the house. I celebrate its flowering every year, and this year it seems better than ever.

I tuck my birdbath under the overhanging branches so that only small birds like the house finches can get access to it.  When I had it in a more exposed location, local crows were inclined to use it to wash various disgusting bits of food they'd salvaged from neighbouring green bins.

"Pauciflora" means "few flowers", which used to surprise me until I saw a specimen of Corylopsis multiflora, which has double flowers hanging in pairs.

Under the Corylopsis, among blue-flowered Anemones, the slender stems of Tulipa turkestanica display their starry flowers with golden centres.

They never spread as vigorously as I'd like, but they'd probably prefer conditions more like the stony hillsides of Central Asia that are their natural habitat.

In the same bed are some snow crocus in complementary colours.

I think the yellow one is 'Cream Beauty', but as these came to me in an unmarked package, I'm only guessing.

My last spring yellow is the aptly named Ranunculus 'Brazen Hussy'.

It's a small plant, but the combination of those waxy, golden flowers with the dark, metallic leaves creates a contrast that is hard to miss. Like a lot of its family it spreads, but so far only a little and only in its immediate vicinity. For now I've been happy to let it do that, and since it's easy to dig up, I'll have even more plants to share with friends if it gets too enthusiastic.

Spring is Yellow

 Of course, there are other colours in spring gardens, particularly the bright greens of emerging foliage, but it always strikes me how many April flowers are rich or pale reflections of the sunshine we also welcome to our gardens at this time of year.

Daffodils are a spring staple and I've already enthused over 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', which has almost gone before the end of March.

Just as it fades, 'Jack Snipe' opens.

I like this narcissus for its airy presence, as if it's on the point of taking flight. Being less bold in both size and colour than Rijnveld's creation, it blends better with other delicate spring hues. Another attribute is how quickly it forms large clumps, allowing me to spread it around the garden, as well as give some away to other gardeners.

This is also prime time for Corylopsis pauciflora, which is anchoring a corner by the house. I celebrate its flowering every year, and this year it seems better than ever.

I tuck my birdbath under the overhanging branches so that only small birds like the house finches can get access to it.  When I had it in a more exposed location, local crows were inclined to use it to wash various disgusting bits of food they'd salvaged from neighbouring green bins.

"Pauciflora" means "few flowers", which used to surprise me until I saw a specimen of Corylopsis multiflora, which has double flowers hanging in pairs.

Under the Corylopsis, among blue-flowered Anemones, the slender stems of Tulipa turkestanica display their starry flowers with golden centres.

They never spread as vigorously as I'd like, but they'd probably prefer conditions more like the stony hillsides of Central Asia that are their natural habitat.

In the same bed are some snow crocus in complementary colours.

I think the yellow one is 'Cream Beauty', but as these came to me in an unmarked package, I'm only guessing.

My last spring yellow is the aptly named Ranunculus 'Brazen Hussy'.

It's a small plant, but the combination of those waxy, golden flowers with the dark, metallic leaves creates a contrast that is hard to miss. Like a lot of its family it spreads, but so far only a little and only in its immediate vicinity. For now I've been happy to let it do that, and since it's easy to dig up, I'll have even more plants to share with friends if it gets too enthusiastic.

Hellebores Galore

 One of the great pleasures of March is the blooming of the hellebores. I've posted photos of my small collection in previous years, but to see a whole drift of them, nothing beats a visit to VanDusen Botanical Garden here in Vancouver.

A slight drawback with many hellebores, especially the doubles, is that so many hang their heads, making it difficult to see the beauty of the inner petals. James, the gardener for this area, overcomes this by floating a selection of the flowers in wide shallow bowls.

This year I decided to follow his example, and although I had a limited supply of flowers in my little garden to choose from and had to settle for a smaller container, I'm still happy with my more modest display.

Hellebores Galore

 One of the great pleasures of March is the blooming of the hellebores. I've posted photos of my small collection in previous years, but to see a whole drift of them, nothing beats a visit to VanDusen Botanical Garden here in Vancouver.

A slight drawback with many hellebores, especially the doubles, is that so many hang their heads, making it difficult to see the beauty of the inner petals. James, the gardener for this area, overcomes this by floating a selection of the flowers in wide shallow bowls.

This year I decided to follow his example, and although I had a limited supply of flowers in my little garden to choose from and had to settle for a smaller container, I'm still happy with my more modest display.

February Snow

In my last post I was celebrating the earliest flowers of the new year. Then yesterday it began to snow. The big goosefeather flakes melted almost as soon as they hit the ground, but this morning we woke to a heavier fall that had smothered most of the smaller plants.

The large box in the upper right corner is covering Euphorbia 'Glacier Blue' in the hope that it will survive these below-zero temperatures. Like most variegated plants it's on the tender side and I've had to replace it a couple of times after weather this cold. I'm afraid too, that Hellebore 'Cherry Blossom' that I featured in my previous post will have collapsed and won't recover - at least not this year, though its roots will probably survive.

What always amazes me is the hardiness of Narcissus 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', also featured in my last post. Although flattened by the snow, it has already shoved its way through the white blanket and is carrying on flowering as though nothing has happened.

On the left of this photo a double snowdrop is also emerging. Its triumph is likely to be brief however: if the snowfall continues it will be submerged again pretty quickly.

February Snow

In my last post I was celebrating the earliest flowers of the new year. Then yesterday it began to snow. The big goosefeather flakes melted almost as soon as they hit the ground, but this morning we woke to a heavier fall that had smothered most of the smaller plants.

The large box in the upper right corner is covering Euphorbia 'Glacier Blue' in the hope that it will survive these below-zero temperatures. Like most variegated plants it's on the tender side and I've had to replace it a couple of times after weather this cold. I'm afraid too, that Hellebore 'Cherry Blossom' that I featured in my previous post will have collapsed and won't recover - at least not this year, though its roots will probably survive.

What always amazes me is the hardiness of Narcissus 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation', also featured in my last post. Although flattened by the snow, it has already shoved its way through the white blanket and is carrying on flowering as though nothing has happened.

On the left of this photo a double snowdrop is also emerging. Its triumph is likely to be brief however: if the snowfall continues it will be submerged again pretty quickly.

February Flowers

Perhaps it's the restricted life we are all experiencing in these days of pandemic, but the garden seems to be waking up more slowly this year. Maybe it's only that we've had more overcast skies than normal and, according to January statistics, more rain.

Still, now that we're a week into February a few reliably early bulbs are already creating some small patches of colour. First to open as usual are the winter aconites, which aren't aconites at all, but a member of the buttercup family called Eranthis hyemalis. Once you know the connection, the resemblance is obvious.

The earliest ones shoulder their way through the soil in spite of pouring rain and marauding slugs,

... and are quickly joined by the rest.

Given time, they make a cheerful carpet, like these at VanDusen Botanical Garden. 

Snowdrops follow soon afterwards. They are the best known of the early bulbs and collectors can choose from  around 20 different species and well over 2,000 cultivated varieties.

Mine are nearly all the very common Galanthus nivalis, but I do have one with

 distinctive green stripes on the outside petals. 

It's called 'Rosemary Burnham' and the reason I grow it is because it was discovered in the garden of a well-known Vancouver gardener whose name it bears.

Even before the snowdrops, Narcissus 'Rijnveld's Early Sensation' opened its first flowers in January. Apparently it has sometimes been sold under the name 'January' and it certainly lived up to that this year. I like the way that the backs of the petals keep some green shadings from when they were just buds.

Not many of the hellebores are in bloom yet, but 'Cherry Blossom' is ahead of the rest. One of the strongest, it reliably produces a generous cluster of striking and colourful flowers.

As the flowers open, they straighten their shoulders and look up, a desirable characteristic that is lacking in some of its family members, especially the double forms. 

Last but by no means least come the snow crocus, earlier and, to my mind, much more elegant than the later, larger Dutch crocus. They come in various colours and I've planted several different kinds. Even on cloudy days when they refuse to open, their small bright spears are a welcome sight.