Sunday, March 4, 2012

Luminarias

or The Grand Finale

The tarragon came back unexpectedly.  A little inconveniently, too.  I thought I had removed it all last summer while re-doing the central bed, but that's what I get for thinking.  This past week the tarragon began to put on a serious flush of growth amid the bed's newly sprouting seedlings.  Something needed to be done about it, say, to put it in a pot until some other plan shows up.   While mixing sand into potting soil then this morning, I found my mind drifting far from spring and herbs and seedlings and back all the way to Christmas.  The sand is left over from this past year's luminarias, one of the southwest's most beautiful Christmas traditions, and it reminded me of arranging the bags, and candlelight glowing through paper on the front step, and Old Town bright with festivity.

Really, though, was it the sand, or was it the light this morning, filling the bowls of the last 'Cream Beauty' crocuses, that made me think of luminarias?

C. chrysanthus 'Cream Beauty'

A pleasant synchronicity, in any case.  And isn't a crocus a kind of luminaria, a "festival light" showing the spirit of the season to your door?  We celebrate so many holidays with light—with birthday candles, fireworks, bonfires—that cheering on the advent of spring with a flower that shines brightly just seems right.

C. chrysanthus 'Blue Pearl'
Since beginning the Thirteen (or Fewer) Ways of Looking at a Crocus (or Some Equivalent) Challenge last month, I've tried to explore different facets of this charming spring flower.  Some of you have been kind enough to join me, and very enjoyable I've found the exchange.  Most recently, kininvie at Gardening at the Edge has posted Fewer than Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Crocus—a set of wise observations that could not be any more true.  And Dave, the Anxious Gardener, offers a wide-ranging view of the blooms in the Tudor Priory gardens he tends in Not Quite Thirteen Ways of Looking at Crocuses.

Previous posts include Wishing For..., a lovely meditation on time by Donna at Garden's Eye View; and the five very different Views of Forsythia, from herald to nuisance to exotica, by Jean of Jean's Garden. B-a-g at Experiments with Plants explores different qualities of saffron in Crocus, and Holley at Roses and Other Gardening Joys values crocuses for their very smallness in A Bloom of Significance.  My own posts have wandered through attitudes toward dearth and plenty, evocations of shy wildness, arrivals and departures, and mild but ecological comic relief.  Between us all, a far-flung set of approaches.

Now, for the grand finale, I'd like just to offer a festival of crocuses, to revel in these flowers for their own astonishing selves:  for the petals' delicate shadings from icy paleness to candlelit warmth, and the startling solar flare of style and stigma;

'Cream Beauty'

the transformation from sheath to petal in the first moments of opening;

C. tomasiniana 'Ruby Giant'

the whorls the petals make as they unfold in the sunshine (though these are blooming in full shade, but that's a technicality);

C. ancyrensis 'Golden Bunch'

and the colors that are so deeply saturated that they're just a step away from being pure light.

'Ruby Giant'

Last year I wrote one post about crocuses and felt that I'd said...not all that could be said, of course, but what I wanted to say about them.  This year I've found myself in a blogging quandary—how can (or why would) you keep posting, year after year, about a garden when the cycle of the seasons is the same?   How do you keep from growing stale?  How do you know when you already have, and when it's time to stop?

The "Thirteen Ways" and all of your contributions, kininvie, Dave, Donna, Jean, b-a-g, and Holley, have been delightful on their own.  They've also been incredibly helpful to me in my quandary, and I thank you all in a huge, huge way.  I suppose this endeavor is once again proof of that old truism:  if you're doubting your commitment to something, you should just engage with it more closely.  One way or another, you'll know.  The crocuses obviously still have plenty of material inside them, plenty of ways of prompting that “wow” that somehow turns into prose.  Meanwhile, we have Twelve Remarkably Different Ways of Looking at a Crocus (or Some Equivalent).

That leaves at least one for next year.

22 comments:

  1. I think you have breathed new life into the subject, Stacy. That's a great outcome to engaging more closely in the subject matter. There is also a natural end to things.....i find that some gardening subjects have a less life in them than others!
    BTW I have run out of superlatives to describe your ( and Dave's) photos.

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    1. Janet, I'm so glad to hear that I didn't just beat the subject into the ground! Thank you, and thank you regarding the photos, too. I'm looking forward to having some taller subjects come into bloom. Hmm, yes--hard to imagine doing a dozen posts on compost, for instance...

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  2. Your crocus photos are amazing. I almost did not recognize them as crocuses!

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  3. Stacy - As this is my second year of blogging too, I've faced exactly the same dilemma. Your idea for this challenge was timely and has given me hope, faced with another bunch of daffodils and more tulips on the way.
    (if only I'd spent less time in the blogosphere and more time planting ...)

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    1. Oh, the irony of the blogosphere, that it does, indeed, take all kinds of time away from actual gardening... I'm glad you found this idea apropos and look forward to reading about your tulips and daffodils.

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  4. It does seem rather odd that we can go through the seasons with the same garden and the same blooms and still find new things to say. But, each day is different, and so, too, each bloom strikes us in a different mood, pulls at our heart or memories in a different way, or is slightly different from the year before. I've really enjoyed your crocuses, and all you and others have had to say about them. What's funny is that many of my crocuses are just now starting to bloom! So, there's still more to be said, whether it gets said this year or next, or the next.

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    1. Oh, Holley, it is funny that your crocuses are just now starting. You have roses blooming, fer Pete's sake! You'll have snowdrops in June, no doubt (whether or not you've planted any).

      You're right, of course, that we aren't the same from year to year and so our impressions won't be, either. I think I've taken more of a "done and dusted" approach to writing, though, than I do to gardening!

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  5. Luminarias is an apt title for your post. I've enjoyed your meditations on crocuses. I haven't seen any starting to pop up in Santa Fe, but when I do I'll think of them the luminarias of spring.

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    1. I'm glad you've enjoyed this set of posts, GirlSprout, and that you of all our fellow bloggers liked the luminarias. It seems a little unfair that SF isn't a more spring-like already. That one growing zone of difference has more of an impact than is absolutely necessary.

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  6. Thanks on so many levels, Stacy. I wasn't aware of the meme on ways of looking at crocuses - what a great idea. I look forward to checking out more of the posts. It crossed my mind recently the dilemma you mention - now that it's close to a year of garden blogging for me, will my posts grow stale? My answer was only if I grow stale, if I fail to delight in what's around me...

    Your photography is stunning. I think you've really grown as a photographer in the time I've been reading your blog. The light in these photographs is ... wow. I've noticed just recently how gorgeous the sunlight is becoming. It was hard many days to take photographs in January and February because there wasn't enough light to hand hold the camera. One question - do you have a macro lens?

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    1. Sheila, thank you. I was actually looking over some of last year's photos and realized that I wouldn't have found most of them bloggable these days--a little disconcerting, as I'm not consciously aware of having changed my approach or technique. Several of the photos for this post were taken on days with a high, thin cloud cover, or the sun might even have been too harsh already. The shadows, though, have brightened up a lot and have some nice, soft light in the afternoons. I don't have a macro lens--I use a mid-level point and shoot that has a good macro mode. I take the photo from as close as the camera will let me and then crop it later to get the image I had in mind. I'm always having to wipe leaf and petal smears off the lens...

      Here's to maintaining your delight in the world around you! And yes, yes, do check out the other bloggers' posts--they're all completely different and wonderful.

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  7. I cannot think of a better symbol for the crocus than a luminary. Such a wonderful way to look at them...sounds like a seasonal celebration if you want to join in the meme...I have a special post on Monday about another wildflower that I love and thought I would share my different views.

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    1. Donna, I'd be delighted to add this to your seasonal celebrations meme if you don't think I'd be adding it too belatedly. I'm looking forward to your post on Monday!

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    2. I will add this post and it is not too late...I won't have the post up until the first day of spring so this is perfect!!

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  8. Stacey
    I have read your almost 13 posts on this single flower with delight. You capture so beautifully not just their colour or the time of year they appear or how the light shines through them, but what they mean to you, what memories they hold, what associations they bring. If only we can stop and look at small things and ponder, how full our lives are...

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    1. Jill, you always have such a warm, lovely way of brightening my whole day. Thank you. I'm so pleased that you've enjoyed this series--looking closely and at length at such small flowers has given me even more pleasure than I'd expected. And you are very right about the rewards of noticing and pondering.

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  9. I think I did ask you, Stacy, very politely, to fudge some of your photos; stamens out of focus, a completely washed out petal, awful composition, that sort of thing. Humpf - I see you've chosen to ignore my request. Exquisite (I don't think I've used that word before, Janet - but I use it sincerely) shots that have me muttering with jealousy. I've loved this series of yours and everyone else's contribution. I also now, in my second year, worry about carrying on and on what to write about. But for now, at least, there always seems something new. I mean, I hadn't meant to write about crocuses! D

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    1. Why yes, Dave, you did ask, and very politely indeed, and in response I did, I did fudge some photos—a great many, in fact. Unfortunately, someone's itchy finger on the delete button did them all in before they could make it into the post. (An outtakes/bloopers post could be a hoot to try some day.) I'm glad you enjoyed these—thank you!—and the series as a whole. I was really happy that you and the others were willing to join and to create such wonderful posts of your own, whether you had meant to write about crocuses or no. I certainly hope the Priory continues to provide you with material for a long time to come—it's hard to imagine that it wouldn't do you justice that way.

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  10. Your images really are a bright spot. Beautiful. So much to say on crocus too. Now, only if I see them soon in my garden to get inspired.

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  11. These are amazing images...so bright, so beautiful! I love the light in these photos.

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  12. Stacey, This series was a reminder to all of us to slow down and drink in nature's beauties. Thank you. -Jean

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