We -- gardeners -- are typically so anxious when spring arrives we cannot believe how slow the gardens are to recover. It is as though spring has somehow mislaid the formula entrusted to it by nature. And nature, looking on indulgently, knows her season must make an effort to recall where it mislaid that precious document. And having done so, must study it carefully to fully comprehend what has been laid away in memory and then forgotten.

The transition is, once it really begins, actually quite swift. It is in fact the gardener's impatience that is at fault. For spring does recall its duties and does indeed know how to proceed; the formula has been so deeply ingrained that nothing could disrupt it -- almost nothing, and then temporarily, by our experience.

And so, we see the garden proudly presenting us with new arrivals. And among those arrivals, perennials long ensconced and happily productive, there are invariably uninvited guests. Some of which are summarily disposed of, as 'weeds' and others surprising us by their serendipitous presence, for though not knowing from where they come, they are nonetheless appreciated and they take their place in the garden as long as they're not too temperamentally assertive.

And finally the garden beds and borders begin to take shape. Trees begin their foliage and even begin bursting with blooms, like the magnolias and the crab apples, and shrubs too burst into bloom, like the Japanese quince, the rhododendrons and the spireas.

And then it's time to plant annuals, once the tulips and the hyacinths and the crocuses have had their splendid time in the spring sun. Suddenly, the garden begins to resemble what the gardener recalls of summertimes-past!