Picking up some supplies at Ann’s Place, I stroll toward the back to see how the grounds have fared this Winter. It is the time of year, between the melting of the last hoped-for snow and emerging growth, when the bones and architecture of the gardens can be examined and appreciated.
It’s easy to spot the broken branches, no longer encumbered by leaves, that need to be trimmed. Still, the dead stalks of phragmites and mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) frame the background reminding me how they yet again will attempt to advance beyond their current line of growth.
The stone dust paths need raking, marred by human, canine and ungulate footprints. All the leaves, save those clinging to a septet of pin oaks (Quercus palustris), have long since been collected. A few seed pods from a thornless honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos var inermis) remain suspended, trapped by its leafless captor.
I see there is not much clean up work to do and notice that the daffodils (Narcissus) are pushing though the soil, getting ready to flower and start another year.
