A field of dandelions is a beautiful sight with its warm
golden glow - if only there wasn’t the inevitable progression to a field of
fluffy white seed heads set adrift with the most imperceptible sigh of a breeze,
the slightest touch. The delight I felt as a child sending off the little
starry parachutes with my breath is much dampened now by the certain knowledge
that they will find their way where they are not at all appreciated: the heart
of strawberry plants, cracks between the rocks in my rock garden, the
perennials I dread to divide. If only they would always drift the other way …
Last year Carl went out one afternoon to pick dandelion
blossoms: he wanted to make a batch of dandelion wine. Picking them was one
thing, plucking the golden petals from their green cradle quite another. It was
a nice way to spend an afternoon as a family, however, just like shelling peas
or pitting cherries together, and the resulting two gallons of wine were quite
passable, too. Chilled, it makes a nice summer drink, and the colour is lovely.
Spring has finally found its way to the farm, and while it
has been difficult to get the crops in with the wet conditions we have had for
much of April and May we are getting close. There is still the possibility that
not all the fields will be seeded, or at least part of some fields, but most of
the seeded crops are emerging, and there is hope they will grow now, too. It
certainly has been a trying time. For me, it was the first time that I didn’t do
any tractor work, and it felt a little strange. I found that I was just as
worried as if I had been driving, maybe more so since I was only watching from
the periphery. We are on our way to retirement.
This means we can spend almost all of June in Germany, at a
time when seeding isn’t quite complete and spraying will be underway very soon:
our sons are looking after things very competently.
We left last week, I, as always, with some regret that I
cannot be present for all the things unfolding and coming to bloom, hoping that
at least the peonies and the yellow iris will have a few blossoms left when I
return at the end of the month.
I went for one last walk in the forest before I left, early
one cool morning, which made it possible to walk with a sweater and thus to
enjoy the wildflowers coming into bloom without getting totally distracted by
the hordes of mosquitoes that have hatched from every body of water, big or
small.
I’m always amazed at the colour theme of different seasons: the one of
early spring is definitely white.
There is one notable exception, however, and this is one of
my favourite spring flowers in the forest: found in the mottled light of the
deciduous forest is the lungwort (Pulmonaria
officinalis), light blue and pink flowers swaying on graceful branchlets.
It is named appropriately, the purplish-blue and pink representing venous and
arterial blood respectively. The German name for lungwort is ‘Lungenkraut’,
which means the very same thing.
When we return none of these flowers will be in bloom anymore, and I might well find the first wild strawberries already.
My writing, if any, will take place on my other blog until then, 'Every Day is a Journey' -
http://susannetravels.blogspot.ca
http://susannetravels.blogspot.ca
