This is not an April Fool's set-up, I swear. Jer and I spotted this charming little scene on our walk yesterday morning. Can someone illuminate me as to eggzactly what's going on here? Maybe these are the kind of bulbs you plant if you want to grow Christmas trees. Well, at least we have it on tape, yuk yuk.
Okay, I'll stop. Clearly it's spring in Portland, and I've got a case of the giddies. I spent a while surveying what a friend referred to as "the emerging biomass" around our house. The little Japanese maple I planted a year ago is leafing out in delicate peach and pale green. The rose arbor needs pruning already. My tarragon didn't get the memo that it's supposed to be a perennial, dammit, but the other herbs made it through the winter in fine shape. The plum tree is dusted with white blossoms, and the chestnut leaves are unfolding like origami. Pretty soon the house next door will disappear again.
And, oh joy, the three hostas I stuck in the shady southwest corner last fall have finally poked their pointy heads through the sodden earth. I had my doubts, oh me of little faith. But spring really is about rebirth. That was far less apparent in California, where winter means more rain but temps seldom dip into the 30s. Of course it's even more obvious in regions not blessed with Portland's relatively mild winters. But we had just enough snow and sub-freezing weather these last few months, enough unrelenting it-might-rain days in a row, for the arrival of spring to feel like a real and profound change. This is such an exquisite, vibrant time of year. I could fall on my knees in gratitude.
And while I'm down there, I might as well do some weeding.