Friday, May 09, 2008


It's undeniable. My tulip garden is in full bloom, even the little anemones I interplanted last fall. The catalogue said the anemones wouldn't do well in this part of the world, and indeed only a fraction of them survived the winter, but that makes the survivors more beautiful. My rose bushes are leafing out, the cluster of merry bells in the back garden droops under the weight of its yellow blossoms, and the stalklike shoots of the peony bushes are several inches high already. Even the Russian sage, which I thought had died, shows signs of newly unfolding greenery.

I can't actually claim that the tulips in this photo are from my own garden; they're field tulips from our local upscale grocer. The gas-and-electric fellow--a towering Scandinavian named Chip--came out to the house this morning to give us an estimate for a new furnace. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the vase and its beauties. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Those are incredible!" I think he was caught by the height and size of the tulips, by how wide open they are to the light. A little vulgar almost. Enough so that we stared at them for a minute in joint admiration. I think we recognized ourselves in the blooms, eager for light and warmth and open to life. Spring is here.

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