Category Archives: Flowers

The charm of sweet woodruff has been documented in these pages prior to now, but it’s in full bloom both here and in Maine, so here’s a pair of photographs that I particularly enjoyed. With such small, airy blooms, the effect of these plants is largely lost in photos, but these come close to conveying that ephemeral magic, at least as best as can be conjured with a little green Canon Elph.

Since it is one of my favorite plants, the spread of this Sweet Woodruff (Galium odoratum) is not an unwelcome bit of invasiveness, at least at this point. Started from a few small clumps gleaned from my parents’ backyard (where it has also made a decent-sized mat), it has spread and formed a lovely groundcover in two areas. I may transplants a few divisions and let it take over some of our unkept area on the side of the house (where it will hopefully choke out some of the more annoying weeds).

I’ve read that some people use the leaves of Sweet Woodruff to make May wine. Personally, I prefer my wine at every month of the year, and without the wait of fermentation and such, so there will be no wine from this green carpet, only the white blooms currently in their glory.

These pea-like blooms belong to the Redbud tree (Cercis) currently blooming in our front yard. This year marks its best flowering yet; the first two springs it produced only a few blooms, and I was beginning to worry. Those fears were laid to rest when I saw the buds forming earlier in the season. Like the American dogwood, this tree flowers before the foliage appears. Going one step further in uniqueness, it flowers directly from the bark, as opposed to the ends of the stem, like most trees.

The origin of its common name is under dispute. Some say it was the tree that Judas hung himself from after betraying Jesus. Others contend the flowers and seedpods resemble the hung Judas after said act. Whatever the reason, great tragedy often belies great beauty.

The slightly heart-shaped leaves remain fresh and vibrant throughout the summer season, a boon to its sun-baked location beside the driveway. This was one of those unassuming below-the-radar trees that I never gave much thought to until late in my gardening game. I was impelled to try it out when reading about its beauty in a tree guide book. The author was so enamored that he claimed if he had but one tree to grow in the world, the redbud would be at the top of his list. What can I say, I’m an easy target for (and source of) dramatic exaggeration.

Though it has the blazing fire-truck red of tulips and the blaring yellow trumpets of daffodils, spring is better-known for its softer palette of pastels, as evidenced by these photos. Whites and pinks and baby blues – the season of infancy knows how to tread lightly, and to wondrous effect. A cloud of forget-me-nots floats just above the ground, its mottled variegated foliage touched by silver and sage.

I grew some of these at my childhood home, in the woodland garden, where they could go freely to seed. Technically, they are biennials I believe, but their seeding is so prolific you can usually count on them for more than a few years, if you are flexible with where they land, or make some careful transplanting upon germination. The pretty foliage does tend to die back in the summer, which is why I never put them into the more formal beds.

The pink ranunculus above has always been one of my favorite flowers, though I’ve never grown them in the garden. The rose-like blooms come in shades both bold and soft, the latter seen here. They may work better as cut flowers.

Finally, the windflowers (Anemone) above are a deceptively fragile-appearing tough bunch, their corms surviving an often-hostile Northeastern winter. I grew these one year in a too-unforgiving spot, where they came up but once, and then I forgot about them and they never returned. Apathy is a terrible thing, often more viciously cruel than an outright infliction of pain or hurt. Better to learn these things in the garden than somewhere else…

The last set of cherry blossom photos, for now, taken in the last sunlight of the day. That golden hour makes many things more beautiful, shading them in a deeper way. The dying light of a day is often its finest.

This is the weeping cherry that sits diagonally across from the white cherry previously depicted. Its blossoms are a little fancier, but not quite as fancy or large as the Kwanzan (the last of our cherries to bloom). It strikes a nice balance between the perhaps-too-simple white cherry and the perhaps-too-overwrought Kwanzan.