Good morning, and we're in the pink. Welcome to Saturday Morning Garden Blogging.
We would have had lovely weather here in Denver the past week, if the damned wind would have stopped blowing. Our high temperatures in the mid-70s came on the days when wind speeds hit 53 mph, averaging almost 22 mph. The wind managed to knock over a plant stand on the front porch and broke at least one of the glass shelves; plastic pots and plant trays were thrown all over the yard, and — of course — the street trash all seemed to manage to land in our yard.
But, at least it was sunny — yesterday it clouded over, and today is forecast to be cool and cloudy, with a chance of rain. Tomorrow may be nice enough to get out in the garden, but I'm not counting on it.
And the next wave of spring bulbs has started — the tulips are out in full force, and have created a riot of color.
Update [2010-4-19 13:30:18 by Frankenoid]: OK, children; time to migrate over to Saturday Morning Garden Blogging: After Hours
When the Mister and I bought Our Old House, I told him that every spring, I wanted wave after wave of spring bulbs filling our gardens. It's taken me 17 years to get there, but I finally, finally, have the Springtime Parade that I envisioned (well, almost; there are a few spots where I really need to stuff in some more bulbs).
I'll modestly admit, for two to three months, my front beds are spectacular. And I think — like a house well-lit for Christmas, it's become a destination spot for many people who live in the area.
I always think of the Dadster this time of year. When the spring bulbs were blooming, in between watching his soap operas he'd sit on the front porch, chatting up people who would wander by to stop and admire. Now, I have no idea what he would tell people about the various flowers. Although Dad was a gardener, he hadn't planted spring bulbs and I'm not at all sure he could, in his later days, have kept a hyacinth straight from a daffodil — but he was great at filling in the blank spots of his knowledge with facts grabbed from thin air, and would speak with great authority on matters about which he knew nothing.
When I got home from work yesterday, I ended up giving an impromptu seminar to a gentleman who was walking by on the various plantings: the advantages of species tulips as compared to their gaudier relatives; extending the narcissus season by planting a wide assortment of varieties; the different forms of hyacinth that most people don't know exist; the blooming times of crocus; and what plants will flower next.
It happens quite often this time of year — people see me outside, ask if it's my yard, and want to talk about it. Some, like the woman who had moved in down the street a few months ago, want information about how I achieved the result, the specific varieties, and my sources for bulbs. Others just want to admire and speak their appreciation. Many have told me that they start cruising by starting in March, anticipating the reemergence of what they've seen before, and looking out for new additions.
My springtime garden is a community event, and gives me the opportunity to talk to a lot of people. Sometimes those conversations may veer into the specifically political spectrum; if there are differences of opinion they can be discussed, rather than fought about as we've already established a commonality of interest — although it helps that I live in a very liberal area of a liberal city.
It is impossible to separate community from politics — politics is community and the personal is political. It's harder to discount another's point of view as totally meritless if you've found merit in that person in another context. Tolerance is better built upon finding commonality than upon screaming slogans from across the street at another group.
That's what's happening here. What's going on in your gardens?