Today was all about the water: a trip to the aquarium, a walk on the beach, coming home and taking a bubble bath with a book. I love these murals on the sea wall in Galveston. It was overcast and breezy today, a bit warm and humid. We hadn't had a free Saturday in months and enjoyed the sense of, well, freedom to take off and have a mini-adventure for the day. Have you had any mini-adventures lately?
It's been a weird winter in south Texas - many days warmer than average (mid-70s and humid today - blech) but we've also had many freeze warnings. I haven't been out with the camera much in the past few months, but I couldn't resist this frozen puddle in the backyard with the ornamental pear leaf encased within. It made me happy to see ice in the backyard, happy to find icicles hanging off of my truck one morning - I love chilly weather. I know that increasingly warm temps are just around the corner, along with decisions to make about what to do in the garden (keeping it simple this year, as I repeatedly learn that I don't have the energy in a Houston summer to tend a garden effectively), decisions to make about traveling in order to escape the heat for awhile. What decisions are ahead of you right now?
We recently travelled to the Oregon coast, and let me tell you, I was a very happy girl. It had been nearly ten years since I had been back to Cannon Beach, and fourteen years since I spent a summer in college working there. It's beautiful whether it's foggy or sunny, but there is a wonderful cheerfulness when the sun is out and shining on the water and the wet sand. Most mornings we went out to catch low tide, which is also the time to find sand dollars resting on the shore. Most people are out looking for clams, but I'm just interested in the sand dollars. Fortunately, I was not disappointed!
Yesterday afternoon I was out trying to make another dent in the endless yardwork. Our plumbago bushes died in the freezes this winter, so I pulled out the clippers and started cutting them away. It took me a minute to realize what I was looking at when I saw this green anole shedding his skin - he blended in so perfectly! I was pretty excited to see him, because they usually move so fast during the day that I don't see them at all. We typically see them in the evening, when they climb onto the exterior walls and turn pale pink/white. I've seen one turn from brown to bright green and back right in front of my eyes when it crawled through a gap in the window screen and didn't know how to get out. Apparently, molting renders them more still, because I had plenty of time to run and get my camera and take photos. He was about 4 - 5 inches total length. I love the little discoveries that yard work can bring!
I'm once again sipping jasmine vanilla as I think about this week's Tea Tuesday theme - what spring looks like in my corner of the world. Our lovely red bud tree is just past its peak of pink blossoms (seen above); the pink haze is lovely to see as we pull into our neighborhood. The Bradford pears still have a few white blossoms on them, but most of their leaves are out and a strong wind last weekend blew many petals down - it was snowing white flower petals! My daffodils are long bloomed and gone. Our cold winter and rare freeze have meant that my garden is getting off to a slow start this year - in 2009 this time I already had lots of blossoms and growth out there. But I have many salvias in my garden and they are sturdy plants, so I know they will bounce back. Even the azaleas in our neighborhood haven't bloomed yet, which is rare. I am eager for their appearance - a lovely bit of magic in the Houston area. We try to make a trip to the Japanese Garden in Houston proper this time of year to see the blooms there as well, and the massive azaleas sprawling around the Rice campus. Spring in Houston does mean tons of oak pollen and other allergens, so although the mornings are very lovely, I try to stay inside. But I couldn't resist last Saturday morning, because I had several new plants to put into the beds: ferns under the pear tree's shade, a few ornamental grasses, and more. Spring in Houston is quite nice. 
My hope for myself and all of you in 2010: new growth, new roots put down for nourishment, new leaves stretching toward the sun. I will be trying to do more seed gardening this year, so these things are on my mind. I plan to stay home this festive eve and take time to review 2009 and reflect on the year ahead - not to set resolutions so much as just to refocus and reevaluate. Will it be possible to thin out those parts of my life that are unhealthy or unproductive, making room for better things? Like the nasturtium seedlings above: I hated to pull them out of the ground, but I knew if I didn't that the ones left behind would not be able to grow as strong. I admired the way they sprouted so confidently out of the seeds, and then I left them in the garden to return to the soil. I'd love to hear about your goals for 2010.
I have been playing with solar print paper this week, trying to capture my ornamental grass before I chop it back to move it to a different part of the yard. I love the way the paper captures the grass so accurately and magically, the process set in motion by the bright sun. Even after the grass is bagged and gone, its delicate seeds will stay with me, captured in blue tones. It's easy to jump from noticing actual physical impressions to thinking about things that have left an impression on my heart, soul, and mind, leaving wispy traces to remain long after the events themselves have occurred. I was reminded of this yesterday at the pottery studio as I was playing catch up on glazing after my absence to study and travel this fall. The staff there uses Pandora to provide our soundtrack. All of a sudden an old Paul Simon song came on, one that I hadn't listened to in many years, and it immediately took me back to high school, when I listened to it often. I suspect music leaves such traces on many of us - along with countless other things in our years.
Pink magnolias bloom in February or March down here, sometimes January. They bloom once a year. I thought I was seeing things last week when I looked out the window and saw a few blossoms on my poor trees. They have seemed rather confused since Hurricane Ike stripped their leaves off several months early a year ago. But then one of my favorite books from childhood came to mind, Leo the Late Bloomer, and I had to smile. My magnolia may be blooming late (or early), but at least it's blooming. And that is pretty spiffy.
It has been years since I’d been in Ohio during the summer, so I was delighted to see my father-in-law’s garden in full bloom again. He has turned most of his backyard into flower beds. This time of year the wildflowers predominate, as you can see from these photos. Over the years, he splits his plants and is able to expand his beds in a frugal manner. He composts kitchen scraps to add to the beds. I was inspired by his choices and plan to incorporate some of these flowers into my own garden. I got a little carried away with the salvia in my beds this spring and appreciated the masses of color that these plants offer, as well as their fun shapes and textures.
