The Beauty of My Garden: A Visual Journey from Mid-April to Early May

Garden

You probably think that if spring started for us in February, then we must be experiencing summer right now. I also thought it would be that way, as it usually happens. However, this time it’s different. Spring has been cold, and until the last day of April, I barely took off my boots and warm jacket.

Moreover, it’s been a record-breaking spring in terms of rainfall. The land of Transnistria has never seen such a volume of water (excluding cases of the Dniester River flooding and certain areas being submerged)—I certainly don’t remember it. Since the end of March, all through April, it rained with small breaks of one or two days, just enough to catch some air before the next downpour. I got to see firsthand what the rainy season is like. I imagined myself living somewhere in Japan, England, or at least Poland. It has its charm, but I was worried about the plants. I didn’t want them to start wilting because about 80-90% of my plants are drought-resistant, and not all of them appreciate excessive watering.

But it seems we didn’t cross the critical threshold—everything is alive and thriving. The columbines grew up to my waist—a first in my practice. And never before have I engaged in planting and transplanting during this time with such ease, without hesitation or concern. The weather was simply perfect, and many plants didn’t even notice they had been moved elsewhere.

Since last Friday, during the May holidays, there have been no more rains, the sun is shining, and summer has truly arrived during the day. Primroses, which are not shaded by anything, flatten on the ground as if someone clumsy drove over them, and you have a nearly complete herbarium. Even I feel like hiding in the shade. And honestly, speaking softly and in italics, I already miss the rain… (I hope none of my fellow countrymen are among the readers, or else they’ll pelt me with stones—there aren’t many rain enthusiasts like me.)

Though I care not so much about myself but about the plants: as long as they are comfortable, I’m fine. And with regular rains and not excessively high temperatures, they, like me, are clearly better off.

My white lavender, planted in the fall and, unlike the blue and pink ones, looking completely lifeless until now, has turned green. The young shoots of the beautiful tree peony, which spent a year and a half in a coma, have started emerging from the roots—it’s already more than just a questionable bud, as it was a month ago, but an undeniable fact. What a joy!

Not all cold weather is the same, and despite the cold, spring is not standing still. The abundant and lush spectacle that occurs during the mass flowering of hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips remains only in my memories and in photos. Without them, occupying 30-50% of various spots in my garden, it immediately loses its vibrancy. It’s always a slightly sad moment, even though the pink tulips are still blooming (several different varieties, but somehow they all turned out to be later than the rest of the flowers). It’s not yet the turn of the latest tulips, but their celebration is short-lived. The plum and cherry blossoms are already behind us; the Nedzwiecki apple tree blossomed and faded too quickly; the fragrant flowers of the Standish honeysuckle have withered…

But a garden is a place where sadness doesn’t last long. The bright and festive redbud is still in bloom, and the lilacs are still in their prime. Aquilegias, phlox subulata, and catmint have replaced the daffodils and tulips. The geraniums and carnations are about to bloom, along with various types of onions and sword lilies, tree peonies, bearded irises, and golden streams of lupines. This is the second part of the spring fairy tale, in my opinion, the most magical, rich, and luxurious. At least, in the south.

Some roses have already formed buds. In the past, “New Dawn” bloomed for me before anyone else (by the last school bell), but now it is surpassed by “Blue Parfume” and “Abraham Darby.” The latter has significantly increased in size compared to autumn and promises to overshadow all other floral beauties. I have reduced the number of my roses fourfold, but I don’t regret it at all. I feel lightness and freedom, and now I can focus my attention, care, and love on the ones that remain.

Cold is not the same as cold, and despite the cold weather, spring is moving forward. The vibrant and abundant spectacle that occurs during the mass blooming of hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips remains only in my memories and photos. Without them, which occupy 30-50% of various spots in my garden, it loses its vibrancy instantly. It’s always a slightly melancholic moment, although the pink tulips are still in bloom (several different varieties, but somehow they turned out to be later than the others).