I see the drift of falling white and smile.
On only March 21--the first day of spring--it was snow. Today it is crabapple petals.
When I step outside, there is a constant buzz. The bees are so happy and busy. Out my back door is a sea of several hundred purple iris. I'm not that fond of the plant, but right now they sure are pretty.
December through March had a preponderance of cloudy days and rain. Now suddenly the temperatures are normal and we actually could use a little rain. Gardeners have finally gotten their seeds and potato eyes and green onions in. It is time for the squash and beans. A couple of weeks and the okra and tomatoes go in.
Texas is a big state, but our tomatoes are mostly small. We can't grow Beefsteak or Big Boy or whatever tomato that will cover a slice of bread with a single slice. We get too hot too soon. Porters, grape tomatoes, Romas, Celebrities, Carnivals, these do well. Anything smallish to middle-sized will continue to produce some in 100-degree weather.
I had to laugh the other day leaving my son's home. My daughter-in-law had bought green onions for a dish she was preparing and had several left over. She simply plugged them into the dirt of one of her patio planters. They have gotten hearty and healthy on their way to becoming fullsize white onions.
I like to eat, and I love fresh produce. But my real love is the flowers. Bluebonnets are spectacular is south Texas this year, I hear. I love Indian Blankets, Texas primroses, wild larkspur,fairy cups, yarrow, painted daisies, paintbrush in red, yellow and white. The wildflowers are a wonderful dividend in Texas, sometimes stretching in a colorful blanket as far as the eye can see. Once you get out of the Metroplex, of course. But we have our fields--no, not meadows--in the complex of many cities and highways and buildings as well. The redbud was spectacular but went really quickly, less than two weeks.
Texas doesn't do fruit trees so well. We have a lot of peaches in certain locations, but the clay soil right here carries cotton root rot, which kills many of the trees. It is a fungus found in clay and the reason cotton no longer is grown in central Texas. Small apple trees do pretty well, but cherries don't grow at all. We have some areas to grow strawberries, blackberries and blueberries. Others, not so much. Apricots don't thrive. On the other hand, pecans do well. We get a fair amount of pistacios from New Mexico. We like our pecans because they are sweeter than walnuts. and they are what we are used to. Parker County peaches will come in July, and we will flock to buy them, peeling and sugaring and freezing some for later. We don't usually have vidalias, but we have 1040s, which are sweet onions. We have all kinds of peppers--banana, Bell and chiles of all kinds. Green beans. Pintos. Blackeyed peas. Sugar snaps but no English peas.
I try to buy organic when I can and always cook from scratch, avoiding the high sodium and preservatives. It balances out some of my bad habits, I think. I used to buy a popular cooking magazine until I realized every recipe pushes some prepared product high in sodium and products. Tsk, Tsk.
I will fix a fresh garden salad for lunch when I get back from the store. I need to drive the block there and get some more cigarettes. With the windows up to block the pollen from all these blooming plants.
Yeah. I have a lot of bad habits to balance.
Showing posts with label spring flowers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spring flowers. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Monday, April 6, 2009
Spring in Texas gets a mediocre review this year
I have always adored spring in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, especially compared to New Mexico. This year, however, the two are pretty similar.
True, I have many a picture of my young sons in their polyester Easter jackets, shivering as they sort of smile while holding their Easter baskets full of eggs.
But this year, we are expecting a hard freeze tonight, six days before Easter, a highly unusual occurrence. I worry with proprietary interest for my daughter-in-law's tomato plants, already in the ground. With a good harvest, some of those sun-warmed, ripe off the vine babies are headed straight for my mouth. MMMM.
This year, the mesquite are wrong. Southwestern wisdom is that gardeners can relax when the mesquite bushes begin to leaf out--no more freezes. But this year, the mesquite are leafing. And here comes the freeze. Pecans are supposed to be predicters too, but I think they also have been fooled.
In the Tularosa Basin of New Mexico, fruit trees bloomed by Feb. 28, at least in the 1950s and 1960s. The pansies kept blooming, of course, and the forsythia bloomed, the daffodils eventually straggled out. Mom, who had lived in Colorado, loved columbine, so Dad planted several under the middle cottonwood tree. The duststorms came and went, ocvcasionally accompanied with rain that turned the air into mud.
Nights and early mornings were chilly. Iris waited till late April to bloom, maybe May. THEN the roses bloomd, and it was almost summer, and skies were blue, the days pleasantly warm.
In Texas,usually you have the redbud trees leading the parade, heralding the banks of azaleas exploding into bloom along Turtle Creek in Dallas and the Trinity River in Fort Worth. Pansies bloom in every color. Forsythia and japonica come out. Iris blooms. And then the wildflowers, sometimes covering whole fields with an abundance of color. Enough happens simultaneously to make it a spectacular show. But spring in Texas this year is just sort of showing up like flowers sneaking in late to work.
The redbuds bloomed, and the trees were glorious as usual, but kinda by themselves. The pear trees finally bloomed and faded. A glorious bed of purple iris outside my back door bloomed fulsomely for about two weeks, then died. The azaleas are just getting started. The white iris are just starting.
Last year, the crabapple trees, pear trees, and iris all bloomed at the same time, with roses chiming in at the end. This year, the crabapple tree out front leafed first and is only now blooming. Pretty up close. Kind of dusty looking from a distance. And the roses are thinking about it. The bluebonnets are out, but not spectacular. Other wildflowers are not up yet. Spring wildflowers are my delighted indulgence, an eye-gorge of abundance in good years. A little more rain, and we may still have plentiful color. But not yet.
And for the second year, it looks like the dress I bought for Easter last year won't be warm enough to wear. Oh, well. It is the only dress I own, and I'll wear it later. A friend's wedding in May comes to mind.
As I reflect on my love of the free show constantly around me, I wonder if that is at least partially why I can seldom indulge in a manmade luxury. I just wasn't driven enough. Oh, I like luxuries, just fine. But I guess I'm lazy. Give me nodding fields of flowers, cheap fresh asparagas in the spring, laughing grandchildren and a morning cup of strong tea with a splash of milk, and life seems rich indeed.
Maseltov.
True, I have many a picture of my young sons in their polyester Easter jackets, shivering as they sort of smile while holding their Easter baskets full of eggs.
But this year, we are expecting a hard freeze tonight, six days before Easter, a highly unusual occurrence. I worry with proprietary interest for my daughter-in-law's tomato plants, already in the ground. With a good harvest, some of those sun-warmed, ripe off the vine babies are headed straight for my mouth. MMMM.
This year, the mesquite are wrong. Southwestern wisdom is that gardeners can relax when the mesquite bushes begin to leaf out--no more freezes. But this year, the mesquite are leafing. And here comes the freeze. Pecans are supposed to be predicters too, but I think they also have been fooled.
In the Tularosa Basin of New Mexico, fruit trees bloomed by Feb. 28, at least in the 1950s and 1960s. The pansies kept blooming, of course, and the forsythia bloomed, the daffodils eventually straggled out. Mom, who had lived in Colorado, loved columbine, so Dad planted several under the middle cottonwood tree. The duststorms came and went, ocvcasionally accompanied with rain that turned the air into mud.
Nights and early mornings were chilly. Iris waited till late April to bloom, maybe May. THEN the roses bloomd, and it was almost summer, and skies were blue, the days pleasantly warm.
In Texas,usually you have the redbud trees leading the parade, heralding the banks of azaleas exploding into bloom along Turtle Creek in Dallas and the Trinity River in Fort Worth. Pansies bloom in every color. Forsythia and japonica come out. Iris blooms. And then the wildflowers, sometimes covering whole fields with an abundance of color. Enough happens simultaneously to make it a spectacular show. But spring in Texas this year is just sort of showing up like flowers sneaking in late to work.
The redbuds bloomed, and the trees were glorious as usual, but kinda by themselves. The pear trees finally bloomed and faded. A glorious bed of purple iris outside my back door bloomed fulsomely for about two weeks, then died. The azaleas are just getting started. The white iris are just starting.
Last year, the crabapple trees, pear trees, and iris all bloomed at the same time, with roses chiming in at the end. This year, the crabapple tree out front leafed first and is only now blooming. Pretty up close. Kind of dusty looking from a distance. And the roses are thinking about it. The bluebonnets are out, but not spectacular. Other wildflowers are not up yet. Spring wildflowers are my delighted indulgence, an eye-gorge of abundance in good years. A little more rain, and we may still have plentiful color. But not yet.
And for the second year, it looks like the dress I bought for Easter last year won't be warm enough to wear. Oh, well. It is the only dress I own, and I'll wear it later. A friend's wedding in May comes to mind.
As I reflect on my love of the free show constantly around me, I wonder if that is at least partially why I can seldom indulge in a manmade luxury. I just wasn't driven enough. Oh, I like luxuries, just fine. But I guess I'm lazy. Give me nodding fields of flowers, cheap fresh asparagas in the spring, laughing grandchildren and a morning cup of strong tea with a splash of milk, and life seems rich indeed.
Maseltov.
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