We are on Walnut Hill, two weeks into self-quarantine. Spring is here, as usual. The seasonal cycle is a comfort; its beauty is a balm. We feel fortunate to have a garden to work in this beautiful season. It’s perfect counterpoint to the angst of the news.
Without meetings and social gatherings, we have the gift of time to spend in our garden. And to do it when some plants are looking better than ever. The pansies we planted last fall overflow beds and containers. Never have pansies over-wintered better than this year. Ditto the hellebores.
The old Corylopsis, we had to cut down several years ago, has miraculously regenerated and is full of blooms. Daffodils romp through beds and down the hill. In the woodland Virginia bluebells are just beginning to open. Rhododendrons have buds swelling. Leaves are emerging from oakleaf hydrangeas and acers. Yes, it really is spring.
So, of course, the chickweed is here too, a bumper crop. It drives us nuts. We’re all in the garden working, but we don’t share tools. We keep our distance, more than six feet apart, usually more than ten. We did garden cleanup in early March, but we’re still spreading compost on the beds as they are weeded.
Our friend, the expert pruner, is here tending to deferred projects we’re happy to address at this surreal time. The dwarf Eastern white pines and panicled hydrangeas look better already.
Some tours of our garden are being postponed, but we look forward to welcoming them, and others, when this pandemic abates. Until then, we rejoice in spring.