by jphilo | Apr 6, 2012 | Daily Life
For most of the country, March Madness 2012 ended with last weekend’s championship game. For many Iowans, like my husband, the madness ended in the second round when the Iowa State Cyclones, the team that beat the reigning champs in the first round, lost to Kentucky in the second.
But for other Iowans, like me, the March madness continues, not on the basketball court, but in our flowerbeds. This year’s mild weather was mentioned in a previous post, and afterwards spring marched through March like mad. In fact, so unbeleivable was spring’s onslaught that on the last day of the month, I used my camera to make a record of the mad, mad, mad, mad spring of 2012. Crazy stuff, unheard of in Central Iowa. Stuff like
bleeding hearts blooming in March,
along with tulips,
and more tulips,
and violets.
Not to mention buds on the clematis
and the lilacs, too,
rhubarb almost ready to be picked,
and the roses in full leaf.
Only the wild plum tree blossoms, usually the first of the spring flowers to bloom, waited until their usual time to appear.
Surrounded by the many evidences of this mad spring, the plum tree nearly escaped my notice, until the fragrance of the blossoms wafted on the breeze and tickled my nose. A lovely March Madness I pray will rule at our house until the end of May.
by jphilo | Nov 7, 2011 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The last bloom in our flowerbed, a tiny pink rose that smiled each morning at the beginning of my morning walk, finally met it’s match. It couldn’t overcome last Friday night’s hard frost, though on Saturday morning it was still beautiful to behold.
Weighed down by frost, shivering with cold, it’s brave brightness greeted me one last time.
Frost on the rose, I thought and then wondered why those words sounded so sad. Frost on the pumpkin sounds cheery and seasonal. It conjures up a child’s excitement over Halloween and the good smells of a Thanksgiving feast. But frost on the rose sounds wrong. Sick and wrong, my sister-in-law would say.
And she’s right.
Especially concerning this sweet little rose, I purchased and planted because it reminded me of the pink fairy rose my grandfather planted on his farm and dearly loved. The rose I fertilized and pruned because it reminded me of the fairy rose bush my mother planted in her flowerbed in memory of her father.
Lovely memories killed by frost until the bush comes back to life next spring.
Spring and new growth and longer days seem far away on a chilly, dark November weekend when we bowed to winter’s arrival by setting the clocks back. How will I survive winter’s drabness without the rose’s colorful hello each morning? How can I hang on to the promise of spring?
How can I keep those memories alive?
Suddenly, the answer comes. I will make a poster of this picture of my cheery friend. I will hang it right beside the door where will watch me put on my coat before going out in the cold. It will warm my heart and make winter easier to bear.
It will give hope.
