The Story of a Flower

Blue clematis caught my eye this spring when I found a few patches on Snake Hill. I checked back over the coming weeks to watch the changes.

This perennial vine is beautiful at all stages but like many members of the buttercup family it’s poisonous. (Especially for dogs, apparently.)

Should you be inclined to pop leaves or flowers into your mouth expect a strong burning sensation et cetera. Handling or inhaling parts of the plant can also cause irritation though I’ve handled the plant several times and haven’t noticed any effect. Forewarned.

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Blue clematis   Clematis verticellaris var. columbiana

 

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Split Personality

Two heads are better than one, so the saying goes.

This odd-looking lupine is about to find out.

Moral: There’s more than one way to get through life.

Orange Blossom Special

Beauty tells its own story.

Prequel

Prequel: that which comes before.

Blossoms foretell the arrival of wild strawberries.

Sweet. Tiny. Eye-catchingly red — that is if you’re mouse size and living at ground level.

For me, not so easy to spot.

But worth the hunt.

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Wild strawberry   Fragaria glauca

Closed on Account of Weather

Another spring storm.

Heavy snow shuts down the garden.

Underneath — the lilac holds her perfumed breath.

Tall Bluebells

Not many flowers in bloom yet, besides dandelions and wild strawberries.

I was delighted to spot these little rain-bedecked blossoms on the edge of the woods.

Bright blue flowers on a drooping stem.

Depending on where you live, you might know this plant as northern bells, chiming bells or tall lungwort.

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Tall bluebells   Mertenisa paniculata

 

Back in Business

So. It rained. It snowed. It weighed you down.

Life does that sometimes. Things look bleak when you’ve done a face plant.

But then the sun came out.

Now look at you. Bright and sassy and saying hello to the bees again.

Snow Coat

Today comes snow.

Soft, sifting flakes.

In the garden, narcissi bend beneath the weight of white.

Thistledown

A bitter wind sent me seeking shelter in a sparse clump of trees.

I stop in a patch of last summer’s thistles.

Flattened by hooves and winter snow, wispy white flower heads survive.

Potential

Dry spring this year.

Even grass is slow to poke its way out of the ground.

It should take a lesson from the narcissus — forge ahead, even if the odds aren’t in your favour. Get on with life.