While I was waiting for the muse to inspire me to paint the studio floor, I wandered outside with my camera, doing the rounds of the back 40. To my delight, Portland once again promises that spring is not as far away as it really is.
Daffodils (and weeds) are starting to appear, and it’s only January 8. Eat your hearts out, Pennsylvanians!
The enormous boxwood threatening to eat the fence, even though Jer seriously chastised it last year with his bow saw, has buds that look ready to pop.
Don’t ask me what these look like when they bloom. This boxwood, which was about 2 feet tall when we moved in, was a trash bush, hidden behind the fence where we tend to sling limbs that need cutting up, old junk lumber, and odd bits of concrete that will someday be removed. Because it was, until recently, very much out of sight, I never looked at it. But this year, having been encouraged by Jer’s severe pruning efforts, it is now threatening the forsythia, on the driveway side of the fence and showing off these rather charming buds.
And speaking of the forsythia:
As soon as the amaryllis stops blooming, I will cut some of these and bring them into the house to bloom inside. It’s an annual ritual that promises spring even while the rain continues.
Of course, these promises of spring are deceptive. They start early — but they continue late. In April, when the rest of the world has sprung into glory, it will be raining in Portland, and the ash trees that right now are starting to show golden sap will reserve their leaves for May.
In theory, Portland’s springs teach one patience. In practice, thinking spring is almost here is a bit like waiting for the floor-painting muse to show up. –June