Springeth Green

 

 The Tabebuia  bloom be 'bout as ephemeral as  teen lassie's affection...the few days each spring of her lovely canary canopy teases us such that we w are seduced bye her charm, fickle though she be.  When she dances overhead we gits as excited as any strapling youth at the annual do-si-do.

 

  Before ya' can git yore bones uncreaked, dawn-thirty, Uncle is itchin' to git in the dirt.

 'Round this time of year, keepin'  enough clean garden gloves is a challenge....

The last 20 feet  of Aunty's "annual bed" ( formerly 70 feet of glorious delphiniums, hollyhocks, snapdragons) waits fer Uncle to spade them in...it ain't as showy as we onc't had--mayhap on account of lumbago takin' it's toll, mayhap because when the Pork Rind bidness took a torpedo at midships, Uncle needed somethin' to boss around so he decreed,  "Heah I'se gonna grow mah collards."  

Aunty declines to perspire afore  a third cup o' cawfee.   
Lovely new porcelain mug in hand (Thanks Sis!!)  I wander about the place noting how
 the chillen is all doin' an how each one is a personality unto its ownself.





  The Amaryllis is elegant, a beauty that surprises us'uns wif'out fail, year after year.  Each spring the bulbs shoot skyward on cue, havin' lain asleep for months under the oak leaf decay, as if waiting her True Love.  She rises from hiding, her carriage as faultless as a Countess. Some wear a jeune fille  blush. But the cool, aloof green throat of  Limelight suits mah fancy. With little need of mah care, Amaryllis determines her own course, arriving when she will and departing as whimsically.



  An' if some is preening, an' showy, others-- the cast off orphans of un-labled pots from Easters long past--rise too, in some forgotten patch of undergrowth: A testament to the hardy determination of the species.  How can one withhold admiration? Minus all affection, an' anticipation of approval, they march unaided though the undergrowth on their own path to glory. We see, an' marvel.

 If Amaryllis do best when left to self-direct, the climbing old roses refuse to perform unless a hard pruning rehabilitates them. As some folks have discovered about their own kin: Some is spectacular once snipped of their dead ends, loved and cosseted, then shaped an' coaxed to grow to full potential. 

 Crepe Myrtles too burst forth after a severe retrenchment, a back to basics structure....a Lenten mediation in its own right, the Crepe Myrtles suffer their bald, stripped form--- not undignified, but in fruitful wait for the day of their perfection.



Uncle done earned his second breakfast ( Thank you Tolkien)  by the time Aunty is done musing....though iffin' y'ain't had enough spring, thar's more here (skip  65spam comments for products nice folks doan know about)




We hope Spring has sprung y'all  too!