Some ways I’ve share roses of Sharon in recent years:
• dig up and transplant selected saplings that grow up below the original bush…
• sweep and scrape loose shriveled remains fallen on the sidewalk .
• take photos of successive stages of a blossom…
• take short videos of blossoms lifting/shifting in warm winds …
• cut branches with buds and blossoms ( a source of tiny active ants) to fill a vase… .
Last week a surprise gift bouquet with botanical notes about hydrangeas got me to start noticing their variety in my neighborhood. I marveled at the many different forms of delicate clustered blossoms among their handsome hardy leaves. Wikipedia affirmed that worldwide there are more than seventy species of hydrangea, including shrubs, vines and truly tall trees.
A few magnolia trees in my neighborhood began to blossom tentatively in late March, followed by a full surge in early April with three bright mild days. Cold winds and rain soon sent many petals to settle, discoloring on the ground after the brief but spectacular displays of distinctly different magnolias. No wet spring snowstorms to weigh them down this year, so they can gracefully give way to other predictably brilliant showings of the season.
This post is guided by my goal to focus on plants (trees, flowers, fruits, bushes, berries) that have nurtured connections to key people in my life (in this example, three generations of my sister’s family).
I signed up for this slot last year when it showed as a fleeting bonus to my basic blog, Art Outdoors, on WordPress. It promised a solution to my urges to post pictures of plants that did not fit within my own constraints on what to include as art, which ruled out “the art that nature makes” no matter how amazing. Just knowing that the spot awaited was reassurance enough until this November, as the last leaves fell and faded while the prospect of renewed pandemic restrictions rose.