We’ve just passed the equinox, and things round here are getting ready to spring into spring. Not fast enough for Ophelia, alas – she wants her daffodils and wants them now. Well, she can haz. And so can you. There’s also bonus Tom Lehrer at the end, because spring isn’t complete without one particular song.
Next March, I should see about taking Ophelia to Oregon. There’s a long stretch of back road in the Willamette Valley where daffodils go on for miles. Lockwood and I didn’t get any pictures – the lighting conditions were teh suck for shooting from the car – but we marveled. You drive and drive and drive for what seems like a bajillion miles with this nearly unbroken hedge of daffodils along the road.
Now I’m just cheating – these are from last year. It should only be a week or so before everything’s blooming in force again, and I’ll have the opportunity to unleash the power of my macro upon the local cultivated flora again. I’ll be paying more attention to daffodils this time.
Daffodils had a particular meaning in my youth. When the crocuses came up, we’d bust out the plastic wrap and toothpicks, because it was guaranteed Flagstaff would suffer another snowfall. My mom and I always tried to save the little buggers with makeshift greenhouses, and it never worked. But when the daffodils came up, we knew we were through with winter. Sure, there might be a light dusting of snow, but the freezes and the significant accumulations were over. And there’d be plenty of mud to play in.
Daffodils apparently have a different schedule in Japan.
The first snow
the leaves of the daffodil
It’s actually a little difficult to get excited about daffodils here, for me, because about the time they’re in full swing, the fruit trees get showy. That’s one thing I love about this area. Driving in to work becomes a ride through fairyland.
The cherry trees start in first. The whole place turns rather pink, and for a while, it feels like being in a Japanese poem.
A lovely spring night
suddenly vanished while we
viewed cherry blossoms
Then the plum trees turn into huge white clouds. At least, I think they’re plum trees. Maybe one of you will know for sure.
Spring too, very soon!
They are setting the scene for it —
plum tree and moon.
If you wish to sit quietly in serene beauty and contemplate the glories of spring, stop right here. Savor the moment. Do not go on. Because this song will shatter your ethereal mood.
Yet it is a springtime anthem.
(For the record: I haven’t poisoned a single pigeon, and don’t advocate doing so. I actually like pigeons. But I also love this song.)
Happy spring, my darlings!