“Henry Mitchell, in his book One Man's Garden, observes that "it is not important for a garden to be beautiful" in everyone's eyes. But "it is extremely important for the gardener to think it is a fair substitute for Eden." Perhaps this is an overstatement, or perhaps it is a theological truth.” 

― Vigen Guroian, Inheriting Paradise: Meditations on Gardening

When one inherits a garden, like we did when we move three years ago, one must give it some time to show its worth. I sat back for a couple of springs and summers to see how it would unfold and feel. Some of it works, some does not, meaning that this year might be brutal for some of the plants that surround our home. There are several yucca plants, most likely planted because they are one plant that are truly deep proof. But to me they look somewhat out of place here in the pacific northwest, also the colder winters we are having, are hard on them. Of the several we have scattered around the yard, this one might be the only one that will not be dug up. Each winter I find the leaves healthy and vibrant, full of intricate patterns and colors that draw me in. It lives across the small pathway leading up to our front porch, opposite the bed of hellebores, and the deer turn their noses up at it. This time of year, when I am yearning to be out in the garden, it is more proof that spring is coming.

 

In the Victorian language of flowers, hellebore symbolized delirium, according to The Language of Flowers printed in New York in 1834. Today, hellebore's symbolic meanings include peace, serenity, and tranquility in addition to anxiety, stress, and scandal.

I head outside to sweep the front porch and am happy to see that the hellebores are starting to come up. I go back in to get my clippers and gloves, spending the next twenty minutes peacefully working in the garden. I feel the anxiety and stress slip away as I understand that spring is on her way.

Now I am waiting for some kind of scandal to arise!

“You are Mr. Owl. I am Ms. Hummingbird. We may be came from different species but as long as you're a bird, I'm a bird too.” 

― Glad Munaiseche

I have a tiny feeder that sticks to my kitchen window.
I keep a jar of sugar water in the fridge just for them.
He comes first thing in the morning and scolds me if it is frozen.
She comes in the late afternoon and watches as I wash lettuce for the salad.
They chase each other through the bushes along the fence,
and chatter high up in the tree tops.

I never get tired of watching them.

"Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness." 

— Karen Joy Fowler

January was full of life and death. It was walks on cloudy, dark days along the shore of the bay, and dinner out on Thursday nights. January was taking inventory of friendships, letting go of grudges and misconceptions, and the feeling of coming home. It was quiet moments with good books, lots of poetry and the sound of Pádraig Ó Tuamato voice holding me mesmerized each night as I went to bed. January was learning once again to pause when I feel overwhelmed, slowing down to notice just what it is I am feeling and taking note. January was full of Percy time, understanding the importance of play by allowing him to lead, knowing I am privileged to be along for the ride. It was Frosty the Snowman, made up games, looking for deer, noodles at every meal and so many stories. It was also the month of his 3rd birthday. January was making peace with my camera and this creative outlet that fascinates me so, and understanding that if a photo moves me I am doing it right. January was leaning into life head first, coming to the conclusion that there really is no other way to do it, and still feel alive.

January kicked my butt, and yet, I feel as if I have finally stepped into my life on solid ground.

“A flower does not use words to announce its arrival to the world; it just blooms.” 

― Matshona Dhliwayo

The blooms of this winter daphne always catch me off guard. I noticed the tiny, pink buds a couple of weeks ago, and then forgot about it. But there it was yesterday, blooming. It grows in the yard of a neighbor, so I don’t see it every day. But I have to tell you, when I saw that splash of pink yesterday, my heart did a little dance.