At My Window
Crocus shoots come up at the same time every year, give or take a few days, and their exquisite flowers open with the same predictability, year after year. The cycles of nature evoke awe and reverence in us today, as surely they did in countless generations before us. It’s all the more disturbing then, when that rhythm appears to falter.
Shown here are two views of our pond-side garden, recorded three years apart, almost to the day. The 2012 photo was captured after a modest first snow, the 2009 picture after two big snowstorms had dropped several feet of white stuff. (The little bird bath is there, buried, a shallow mound of snow marking the spot.) The dates were January 21st and 18th, respectively — tantalizingly close, yet three years apart. Is that mere coincidence, or the rhythms of nature again at work?
Two trees appearing at the water’s edge in 2009 are now gone. The large one on the left, a Box Elder, grew topsy-turvy for years until it outgrew its roots, and blew over during Tropical Storm Irene. The small one was failing, so had to be removed. The Red-twigged Dogwood in the middle, a fast-growing bush, has doubled in size over three years, and would be bigger still had it not been heavily trimmed.
The stems with little balls atop are what’s left of summer’s Coneflowers. I purposely leave them standing in the fall. Each winter they make a distinctly new and beautiful display against the snow.
Both images were captured in color, and so reproduced here, but they could easily be mistaken for old, black-and-white photos. The 2012 scene was shot at 10:55 am, the 2009 version at 4:22 pm.
Each of these views of our Winter Garden has its own appeal. One is delicate, conveying a sense of repose; the other is assertive, engaging us with strong contrasts. Do you have a preference? If so, please feel free to share your thoughts in the Comment box.
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I heard the phoebe bird yesterday. They are not supposed to get here until March. The bulbs are beginning to come up, and the hydrangea, lilac, and grape vines are budding — too early.
This sobering comment gave me pause, until a friend, an expert gardener, reminded me that we’ve had these warm winters before, with premature sproutings and buddings. Each time, the plants survived quite well, thank you. Apparently they have their own internal “anti-freeze” that let’s them survive subsequent periods of cold.
The implications for the longer term are most grave, however, and cannot be ignored.
Ron,
Love the stark imagery. Very effective.