Come spring and longer days in the Northern hemisphere, we would typically say: “the garden is returning.” The lawn is back to a lush chartreuse green; bulbs such as daffodils and tulips are popping their heads; and fruit trees, such as cherry and apple, are tantalizing us with their bursting buds. For me, in this phase of life, it goes both ways: I head south when the trees are shedding their autumn leaves and migrate back as they are leafing out once again. Hence my title: “Returning to a Garden” when, all along, it is a garden returning. Renewal goes both ways.

For decades, Seekonk Farm here in the Berkshires has offered me a haven, and one for all seasons. Still, while recently setting foot upon the stone path to our 18th century farm house, I felt like a stranger combined with a bizarre sense of déja vu. Flashing back the following day to years of planting, weeding, pruning, deadheading, dividing plants and mulching offered me a grounding: my roots. And there was the reminder that nothing is permanent. Once again, I came across a plant, in this case a beautiful evergreen shrub, that had succumbed to the harsh winter elements. The ravenous appetite of deer was also evident in my devoured tulips. The silver lining to one’s attachment to the garden? Recognizing the ephemeral as in the trillium that is no longer with us in a few days.

But back to a golden world come spring:

For a mysterious reason, the color yellow often seems to make its entry come early spring as we know from forsythia and dandelions. This would also be the case where I would enjoy fields of lemon-colored mustard greens (unfortunately invasive) in Ojai, California and later the narcissus aka daffodils in New England. Intoxicating scents from citrus blossoms had pervaded Ojai’s air while now, in April, daffodils were offering their own perfume — albeit when you bend down.

Another spring highlight was a stop in Washington DC. where the color palette was different. While its famous cherry blossoms lay mostly on the ground, I, like my son and daughter, was awestruck while wandering through the The National Arboretum’s woodlands permeated by a feast of azaleas and rhododendrons at their peak. While some were native, many had been imported from China and Japan — with no extra tariff slapped on!

When it comes to pink, there’s no dearth of it here either. My star magnolia which revealed only faint blossoms a week ago, is a good example. Now, on May 1, the tree, like those azaleas in the mid-Atlantic, is in overdrive. Sadly though, while writing this, I can already see petals beginning to create a carpet…

Turning back the clock a few days before such a display, hellebores, native to Europe and Asia were thankfully making a contrast to the brown earth. With evergreen foliage, their nodding, but not timid, long-lasting flowers range in color from cream to deep pink. And, they play more than an ornamental role in our landscapes; in late winter they announce that spring is on its way. Soon on their heels come bulbs such as crocuses, blood-root and trillium as seen in a previous photograph.

While just ten days ago, nature was reminding me of why we take off in winter, the transformation in the span of just a few days makes for quite a seasonal show with at least three acts. You can almost blink and then notice flower petals opening - or closing as do the white blood root when dusk settles in. By the way, the word “blood” relates to the stem which, when broken, produces a red liquid - something I learned years ago and always remember. Most important is the reminder that gardens and nature all around us is a precious gift. And one to be preserved.

Now, with the garden beckoning I’ll say farewell and share below a few lines from William Wordsworth:

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

“Daffodils” by William Wordworth

And now after a hard rain…