After rain, cold rain, warm rain,late rain, and then a hot week, our garden is alive. When I go for a walk in the woods – that seems a little pretentious and wildness seems way too pretentious, but both are more or less true – behind our lot, everything is growing but not much is blooming. But, in the garden, everything seems to be blooming. I am not sure why there is a disparity between the two although most of the stuff in the garden has been picked because it blooms.

When Michele’s dad died, twelve years ago, she bought a dogwood that was blooming so that – each year – it would be a a memorial and this year, our Fremontia – Fremontodendron californicum, a California native – joined it in a big way.

Along with some native irises ( Iris douglasiana) .

And lots of rhoddies whose tags have been lost and their names forgotten.

Spring is my favorite time of year and nothing says death and rebirth as much as a garden.