I overmedicated for dust and pollen, last night, and ended up sleeping until 11:00, this morning. By noon or a little after, I was out with my camera. The winds were much diminished, and when I went out again after 4:00 p.m. the wind was calm. After going through a hundred or more photos, I picked out some favorites to post.
In between we have enjoyed a few sprinkles of rain. Temperatures are back into the sixties, for which I am grateful. Perhaps if we have less wind with the next set of storm, I will have tulips remaining afterwards. I do see that some of the later blooming tulips are forming. No sign, however, of the two double tulips. I’m concerned that they might not have survived.
The day started with an early morning thunderstorm moving through, and then the wind came up. In the midst of it all (rain, high winds, >90°F temperatures, brilliant sunlight) I managed to catch a few pictures of the tulips that survived Saturday night’s 28°F low and have now bloomed. The first is a closeup from the second photograph.
Winter overstayed its welcome (and there’s snow in the forecast for this coming Friday), but the tulips are finally up, and these pretty flowers are open on the northeast side of the house. This year, the narcissus have made an appearance, also. I am hopeful that there may be blooms, this time.
There were snow flurries again today, and the flood has yet to come, although the river is expected to reach flood level yet this week. The tulip plants have finally made an appearance, but I can’t get to those on the northeast side of the house because of the remaining snowdrift running along the flowerbed.
I don’t know, yet, how many plants have been damaged by the ongoing freezing and thawing cycles. Hopefully, the warming at the end of this week will continue into summer.
In the meantime I enjoy looking through my photos of spring tulips. This is one of my favorites.
During the past few weeks, we have had a “wintry mix” of precipitation accompanied at times by strong winds. This has resulted in icicles forming in odd orientations. Our temperatures are creeping slowly higher, and so today I put on my boots and climbed through melting snowdrifts in the back yard to take pictures before the icicles disappear totally.
Once again looking forward to flooding expected farther into spring than expected, I recalled the marvelous skies in the early evening of 17 July 2011, followed by still more rain. — Liz
A view of the Red River from just above the Moorhead (Minn.) bank, looking southwest toward Fargo (N.D.), taken just off of the Veterans Memorial Bridge. Almost everywhere, people have heard about the spring flooding along the Red, from Wahpeton-Breckenridge to Winnipeg. In 1997, one of the years that my husband and I were deeply involved in the flood fight (amateur radio), we battled ice and winds and loss of infrastructure over a wide area. There was not supposed to be flooding in the middle of July. There were numerous severe storms in the region on Sunday, when I took the picture, but only light sprinkles of rain in the city. Monday night provided thunderstorms and over 2 inches of rain in south Fargo, resulting in street flooding.
Earlier this morning, there was rain, and everything is green (or blue) and beautiful. (Even the nasty, creeping vine that binds all the other plants and squeezes them to death. I thought I’d gotten all of them out, but more have appeared since the weeding of two weeks ago.)
I was grateful for the gorgeous sky and clouds to the west of us. I spent a lot of time crying, these past few days, over the untimely death of an on-line acquaintance. I am heartened by the beauty that is still in the world, and I believe in a loving god. Grieving, acknowledging loss, is a good thing. It heightens my awareness and appreciation of those still here.
I also am reminded of a short poem I wrote only a short time ago and published on the Patchwork Prose space and my LJ. Not with LK in mind, of course, but simply aware of the fragility of many in my personal world.
“All the Years”
All our winters spent—
How can only days remain
in which to love you?
Sometimes there is not even so long as “just days”.