Signs of spring.

The gardenias, lilac trees, and azaleas are all showing small buds. I can't tell you how happy I was to see signs of life out there. The hydrangeas look like death. Not only did I not deadhead the old blooms (shame on me), but they sat under piles of wildly uncharacteristic snow for days and days and now look emaciated and dead. I am worried they won't come back, but I think I know better.



The hostas. Where are they? Seriously, they are gone. Just a little brown, spindly shoot sticking out of the ground in places where the leafy bastards were once showing off. Will they come back? Was the snow too much for them?

The huge potted climbing hydrangea has suffered thanks to my poor placement. They weren't kidding when they said it was a climber. It's not a climber like, say, jasmine, with its delicate tendrils racing to grow all the way to the sun. This climbing hydrangea has greedy, woody, fat branches that grow aggressive hairy-looking "feet" that want to cling to the brick side of our house. The problem is that I left the pot several feet away from the wall thinking it would be happy to grow up some bamboo supports. I was wrong. The top of the thing is leaning over to the wall, like a kid with his arms out, screaming for momma. Now he's crooked. Damn.

The rosemary and the lavender are like the two receptionists who've worked at the same electrical supply company for 20 years. Just smacking their gum and filing their nails. They've seen it all before. The didn't break during the big storm. They're like, "Whatever, this is nothing." And they go on doing what they do competently and quietly, although probably snickering at the the other employees, like the hostas, and laughing at the boss who was dumb enough to forget to deadhead the flowers.

I'm excited for spring. In the northwest, with this lack of light and permanent state of near-depression of its citizenry, we take any sign of life around here and cling to it. Just like that damn climbing hydrangea.