We finally got around to planting our raspberry canes, after being first inspired by Hannah’s account, nearly a month ago, now. Our friends Barney & Leslie brought us canes from their own plants up on Whidbey Island, and after planting them in the manure-heavy, prepped ground we sprinkled and patted a bit of their own island dirt from the bucket around them. Kind of like vampires needing their own soil from home.
Walking around the yard in the morning sun I noticed tender little buds on the China Blue vine we’re training to climb up the pergola, chives sprouting straight and proud, the willow tree regaining its forgotten splendor in soft, green half-inch leaves, spindly branches coming alive with the promise of sweet smelling lilacs, the tulips we planted in the nip of fall bursting through the mulch of leaves we hid them in, the weeping cherry nubbed with hard tear-buds, croci swollen and purple–the first to show real color, the camellia bush about to burst into sensuous pink flowers, the Spanish lavender bushes rounded with dusky-but-friendly spikes.
Everywhere you look these days, from the mornings that start with rain and turn to sunshine soon after, making you lift your chin, close your eyes and smile, to the Oscars with the obvious theme of hope, to the passionate politicians fanning the fires in our hearts for our desire for new leadership, to all the burgeoning life in our very own backyards, there is hope. I love the spring.