I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a dramatic springtime as here in Wisconsin, the sort of place where winter covers everything with snow, and the plants have to do their thing fast once the warm winds begin to blow.
These small flowering trees seem to have calculated how many buds and flower petals can possibly be squeezed out of their sap — then they produce a few hundred more for good measure.
A day or two later, the leaves are pushing the blossoms aside, saying, “Our turn! Gotta hurry!”
DECIDUOUS SPRING
Now, now the world All gabbles joy like geese, for An idiot glory the sky bangs. Look! All leaves are new, are Now, are Bangles dangling and Spangling, in sudden air Wangling, then Hanging quiet, bright.
The world comes back, and again Is gabbling, and yes, Remarkably worse, for The world is a whirl of Green mirrors gone wild with Deceit, and the world Whirls green on a string, then The leaves go quiet, wink From their own shade, secretly.
Keep still, just a moment, leaves.
There is something I am trying to remember.
~ Robert Penn Warren
Each morning the goslings by the lake appear to have doubled in size. Clouds race across the deep blue sky, darken and thicken, and pour down rain. The anemone buds droop, the sun blazes out, and the white flowers open gladly to take in the rays.
Snowdrop anemones in Pearl’s garden.
Pearl and I took the dogs to the dog park where they had a fine romp, and I admired more trees and flowers.
Virginia Bluebells
Earlier this week we drove to Sheboygan for dinner, and all along the road I got to see lots of handsome farms with beautiful silos, surrounded by bright green fields. On the way home I was quite taken with some stripey clouds.
My grandson, whose nickname on my blog is Philosopher, was married in a joyous and God-glorifying ceremony last week. I am lingering in Wisconsin in the afterglow for a few more days, as other friends and family gradually depart for their homes, as far away as Ireland.
Springtime weather with its unpredictable changes has been a challenge and a delight by turns. In my choices as to what to pack in my suitcase, I had erred on the summery side of the season, which today is working out fine. But while the bride and groom were saying “I do,” we were also witnessing a terrific downpour of rain outside, and clattering hail. It was wonderfully dramatic.
Also dramatic was all the action at the reception, while dancing and playing laser tag.
Flower girl and bridesmaid.
My daughter Pearl’s neighborhood is like a huge park or arboretum, with every sort of huge species of trees, both evergreen and deciduous, the latter in varying stages of bloom and leafing out. Brilliant is a good word for the views, whether one is Irish or not.
In the nearby lake, we can watch Canada geese mothers with a parade of goslings paddling behind. Robins tweet in the trees as they look down admiringly on Pearl’s tulips and daffodils.
Lora built bird’s nests from twigs…
…and the hunting dogs spied a rabbit:
It was my great-granddaughter’s fifth birthday, and she received gifts from the family, as well as flower girl gifts including an umbrella that she loved.
The day after the wedding featured corn hole, a bubble gun, tree swing, and running on the grass, while most adults relaxed over drinks and good conversation.
One day we walked on the edge of Lake Michigan and Clara enjoyed burrowing in the sand.
Yesterday Maggie, home from college in California for her brother’s wedding and for the summer, decided to make tea for her mother, two grandmothers, and great aunt. It was a feast!
It’s all been a superabundance of love and celebrating, with scores of good people, most of whom feel like my people, whether blood relations or not. I still have several days left to spend with a few of them, and then I’ll be flying home and getting ready for another family wedding-reunion. ✈️
Back in 2016 I removed my two olive trees from their pots, trimmed their roots, and installed them in larger, matching white (and lightweight) fiberglass pots. I seem to have never written about the process here or posted photos; I wish I had, because I couldn’t remember the specifics, and had to consult YouTube when yesterday I decided to tackle the root-trimming job again.
Olive Junior, June 2020
The landscape designer who advised me back then not to plant an olive tree in the ground, because it would grow out of scale and become overbearing in my little garden, suggested I keep the ones I already had and just put them in larger containers; she added that I would need to trim the roots every couple of years to keep them healthy in the confined space.
That was eight years ago this month, and one of the trees by its yellowing leaves has been signalling me that my procrastinating was costing it its health. The task had become more daunting with every year added to my age. Those pots may be easy to move around when they are empty, but with all that moist dirt and biomass in them, I could barely tip one over on to a tarp.
When I did, I found a couple dozen salamanders of all sizes under there. They weren’t happy to feel the sun on their cool and moist bodies, and they writhed and slithered away into the mulch.
Getting the root ball out of the pot was the hardest part of the whole job. My back didn’t suffer any lasting effects, but my arm muscles are complaining. We were stuck in the situation pictured above no matter how I yanked and rolled things around; I really could have used a helper (with long arms) at this point just to pull on the pot while I pulled on the tree. But inch by slow inch — and it was finally out.
After I loosened the snarled roots, and shook off the old soil, it dawned on me that I didn’t have enough new soil to replace it, so I covered the root ball against the sun and took a half hour to go to the store for a few bags of potting soil.
Olive Senior, May 2020
After trimming the roots I put the pot back in place and leveled it using two flat stones from the mountains, then put the tree back in, with the new dirt, and a little fruit tree food. I trimmed the branches a bit, too. I think this tree, whom I’ll call “Olive Junior,” will be happier now.
What about the other one? It seems pretty healthy, so I’m putting off dealing with it for now. The two trees have different history. Olive Senior was given to me as a birthday present by my son “Pathfinder” and his family more than ten years ago. I kept it in a roomy pot but didn’t water it very much; its form was lacking but it didn’t occur to me to try to improve on it.
A few years later I saw little olive saplings at the grocery store half-off, that is, $7.50. They were very healthy and more shapely than my olive tree, and I brought one home. I began to shape Olive Senior with my pruners. When it came time to put them in matching pots, O.S.’s roots weren’t crowded in the pot and there wasn’t much to trim off. Olive Junior’s roots were extensive and needed a lot of trimming, even though it was much younger. So… I’m guessing each is still following its pattern, and I can wait a bit, and tackle Olive Senior with a little more forethought, and with a helper.
It’s a great blessing to own not just one, but two olive trees, even if I do have to give them the bonsai treatment. They like the Mediterranean climate. I will close my olive report with this Bible verse that I took many years ago as a poem-prayer expressing my heart’s vision:
But as for me, I am like a fruitful olive tree in the house of the Lord; I have hoped in the mercy of God for ever, and unto the ages of ages.
Gladsome Lights 