February 15

Yesterday I realised that not only had my orange-blossomed witchHazel tree opened most of its blossoms, but I also have two snow crocuses-- one yellow, one white-- blooming in the South Foundation garden. (That's really rather late, but it's been an odd, cold winter.) Add to that, snowdrops in three locations (under the witchHazel, in the angel garden, and in the south foundation) and you have a recipe for a flower seed-packet purchasing spree.

Today I stopped by Job Lot (the local El Cheapo store) and found, to my glee, the classic American Seed Company's rack of Bargain Seeds. Standard non-hybrid seeds, Ten Cents a Pack. So, I stocked up on seeds for cosmos, white alyssum, gypsophilia, morning glory (blue and multi), petunias, bachelors buttons, and forget-me-nots. Every September these flowers form the backbone of my garden. In fact, last year, without the cosmos, morning glory, and the alyssum, I'd have HAD no garden, thanks to Bambi (who ate whatever asters survived the drought.) These are crucial purchases.

I've already purchased packets of pink annual poppies, and I'll be direct-sowing them before long. I will stubbornly attempt, once more, to grow moonflower. I've also picked up some sweet peas to try this year. There is a small patch of Larkspur seedlings from last fall, for which I have high hopes. And I can count on returning Johnny Jump Ups.

Finally, a cool breeze after the heat wave! Hallelujah! The cool-front has come through, and I need no longer be concerned for my lilacs. Sunday afternoon when we returned from church, the leaves of the white lilac had wilted in the hot southwest wind. I hand-poured gallons of water into the bed (several watering cans full, to start, and then another watering can every twenty minutes for the rest of the afternoon, til the wind died and the day cooled off.) The next morning the plant looked no worse for the wear. This was the first year that the white lilac carried flowering buds, and I wanted to keep those buds healthy so they'd bloom. They are in bloom now. Glory to God!

There is a young moon out tonight (it will be first quarter tomorrow), and it cast a little bit of light, barely enough to discern shapes. It was only a whisper of moonlight, but after I gave my eyes time to adjust, there were plenty of flowers to see. (The nice thing about a pale moon is that stars shine beside it.)

Dimly visible were pale blue woodland phlox, pale blue Jacob's Ladder, pale lavender lilac blooms, and deep yellow jonquils, and the greenish white flowers on the blueberry bushes. Moderately visible: pale yellow jonquils, cowslips, and lavender creeping phlox. Clearly visible were the White lilac; white poeticus daffodils; white creeping phlox; white tulips (shirley); white violets both annual and perennial.

What was invisible was the fragrance; sweet, but cool and fresh. Due to this "cool front", the air itself is fresh and invigorating without being cold. The emerging leaf buds are invisible but inspiring. (Even the airplane lights add to the beauty. ) It's an intoxicatingly glorious night. No wonder gardens are featured in the bible for a description of the glory of God.

The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing. (Isaiah 51:3, NIV)

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. (Isaiah 58:11, NIV)

They will say, "This land that was laid waste has become like the garden of Eden... Then the nations around you that remain will know that I the LORD have rebuilt what was destroyed and have replanted what was desolate. " (Eze. 36:35, NIV)

October

The Autumn 2000 saga was The Moonflowers.

I had them climbing the lilacs, the tomatoes, the sunflowers, whatever they could climb. It was my first year that they survived Bambi long enough to climb anything, so I was pleased and proud. And in September, they manifested: BUDS. Wow! Long, spiralling buds lengthened and enlarged, and held us breathless in anticipation.

Then came the threats of early frost. "You HAVE to cover them," my friend cried. I did. Religiously. And we watched the buds, anticipating, checking, measuring. But after that they seemed frozen in time. The morning glories bloomed happily, but the moonflowers did not.

Should we have left them uncovered? Did they need the moonlight to bloom? Would they have made it through the light frosts anyway? Or do they just shut down in the cold? We do not know.

But I will try again next year.