What smites me most about this glorious Spring that has utterly sprung at Les Pierres, for now stubbornly ignoring the forecasted belch of a winter surely gone but still expected to bring snow later this week, is the togetherness in this strife for serene beauty, where nature’s effortless endeavors take charge over my more pondered and conceptual works towards the same goals, like finally building that pergola I have envisioned for months and that is supposed to connect the front of the cottage to the vegetable garden to give our aged grapevine an extension to linger in summer and at the same time provide a solid hurdle for Young Mec, as his juvenile improvidence doesn’t pair well with sprouting seedlings and emerging abundances.
This new contraption will also give plenty of room to one of Ivory‘s favorites, the trumpet vine called Campsis radicans ‘Flamenco’ that arrived well packed in the mail today, barely visually alive but prone to take over our veggie gardens eastern entrance with at least the same radiant lust for life as the the yellow excess that the Forsythia is currently displaying, but in a fiery red and orange that confusingly enough looked pink on the website where we ordered the plant, hence my enthusiasm to add it to the existing pallet.
Unexpectedly even our tulips this year participate in the enchanted glee, their bulbs randomly planted in autumn and immediately forgotten about, usually woefully devoured by rodents before their days of glory anyway, as do the innumerable yellow and white wood anemones, that beatifically preclude mowing the lawn: it pays to be part of this winning team.
This contrast with previous years, when the framework of this picture perfect painting we foolishly tell ourselves we’re obliged to paint was still so concealed causing impatience and tautness, is remarkably emollient and chases away the fiddling stress about timelines and targets, as if this early return of liveliness breathes a hospitable reassurance: all will be well, no matter what.
