We had a week of almost tropical heat and humidity last week. And a bonus of clear skies for hot, sunny days. Not only did we marvel at the swift transition, but so too did the forest that seemingly suddenly reminded itself that winter was long past and it was time to begin seriously leafing out. But yesterday morning when we awoke it was to a dark dawn and the sound of an approaching thunderstorm. I quickly got out of bed, as Jackie and Jillie followed close behind me. I was anxious to get them out to the backyard before the rain struck and they complied nicely. And then down it came.
When, some lengthy time after breakfast, the rain stopped, it almost looked as though we'd see clearing skies. We had a moment or two of actual sun beaming down through a crack in the clouds, and then for most of the afternoon, continued cloudy skies and intermittent rain. In the garden, the flowering trees are at their height of early-spring glory. From the large pink luscious blooms of the magnolia, to the smaller, innumerable and equally pink blossoms of the Sargenti crabapples, to the white blossoms of the weeping Jade crab, and the flowering pea.
The rain did its best to knock down as many of the petals as it could manage and soon our gardens and walkways had almost as much scattered white and pink petals as those remaining on the trees. I waited awhile for the light showers to abate, then began planting some of the annuals we'd acquired earlier in the week; begonias, petunias, impatiens, Canna lilies and a plant I'd never before seen nor heard of, curcuma (flowering turmeric).
Typically, it's a plant from Asia where some of our most exotic and beautiful flowering annuals are derived from; perennials in their native habitat, but annuals in colder climates like ours. I just couldn't resist those beautiful blooms, just as I can't the hibiscus plants that I always buy in the hope they can carry over to the following summer, and never do.
We decided to interrupt the gardening and take Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine for their daily trot through the forest trails, gauging we might be able to manage a hike without a sudden rain squall. But it was still warm enough that if they did become soaked it would be just an inconvenience. As it happened, there was no rain while we were out, although the forest floor and the canopy were drenched from the thunderstorm's effect. There's an odd twilight that hovers in the forest on such heavily overcast, moist days that while the light is greatly reduced, colours tend to be intensified.
The all-encompassing, fresh verdancy was dazzling. It looked as though the forest was reaching out to embrace us all. And it happened so suddenly, a mere week or slightly more from the initial appearance of new foliage, to that point where the forest canopy was almost fully restored. Jackie and Jillie discover other minor miracles, mostly concerning the release of new smells that fascinate and draw their attention. Even while our very presence drew the attention of those hated denizens of a summer forest; blood-hungry mosquitoes.
The lilting, happy trills of cardinals and robins and song sparrows resounding through the woods is a conciliatory gesture by nature for us to overlook the prevalence of stinging, biting insects at this time of year. So our hiking venture was the usual pleasure and the serenity of our surroundings as always soothed us and refreshed us. So that Irving decided to take out the wheelbarrow to mix up garden soil, sheep manure and peat moss to begin filling up our numerous garden pots and urns.
I noticed, while I was adding bone meal to the mix, that suddenly mosquitoes began appearing. Peering a little closer I realized that mosquitoes which we normally don't come across around the house, were attracted to the bone meal, and rushing into the pots to sample the fertilizer I was mixing into the soil. Could have been some blood meal mixed in with the bone meal. So their presence was an unappreciated addition. Which didn't stop me from beginning to fill the pots with some of the annuals we had in preparation, from million bells to lobelias and wave petunias as stuffers along with the star performers, the begonias that thrive in our garden landscape that has a deficit of sun.
We managed to get half of the pots and urns filled and planted and decided we'd had enough work done for the remainder of the day. I had earlier, after our ravine hike, decided to make a big bowl of Cole Slaw, because Irving said he planned to do ribs on the barbecue for dinner. And we'd have corn-on-the-cob on the side. So I grated cabbage, onion, carrot and an apple, and made a dressing of salt, pepper, cider vinegar, olive oil and mayonnaise to refrigerate it for several hours before dinner
Despite the rain -- which turned out to be helpful in its own way after all, since I didn't have to water the newly-planted annuals because the soil was already wet, and later in the evening more rain came down -- the cooler temperature of 22C, the humidity and breezes gave us a splendid opportunity to begin our annual planting. Before light failed with evening's approach I took another photograph of the garden and was pleased with the colour brought to our personal landscape with the addition of this year's annuals to complement the form and colour of emerging perennials, like our hostas, peonies, roses, lilies and irises.
