Afternoon at the flower fields

When we made plans to fly to San Diego in March, our hostess, Allison, had a few suggestions for our visit.

We are kindred spirits, so she knows what I like: independent bookstores, coffee shops, the beach near the Hotel del Coronado, walkable neighborhoods full of fun places to explore.

But this time, she added a new idea.

“I know how you feel about flowers,” she wrote. (My love for my florist and the #FlowerReport is well documented.)

On a sunny Sunday, we drove up the highway to Carlsbad, where the Flower Fields waited for us.

Fifty acres of ranunculus, y’all. I could not stop gazing (and taking pictures).

After a long, grey, lingering winter in Boston, this vivid color was a gift to my eyes and my soul. I could have stayed all afternoon – and we did stay a while.

The fields are planted in bands of color, as you can see. They sell cut flowers and bulbs (I bought a few) and also host events.

We (I) could hardly take it all in – but we did our best.

More San Diego photos and stories to come.

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Edging toward spring

The forsythia are late this year.

I usually spot their electric-yellow blossoms toward the end of February: they are sometimes an early sign of winter’s end. But although my friend Amy brought an armful of boughs inside to force them in midwinter, I only spotted them blooming outside last week.

The crocuses, my faithful little friends, arrived right on time, along with the snowdrops, which sprouted up in their beds along the paths I walk daily in Cambridge. The long, elegant stems of daffodils and the uncurling leaves of tulips are up, too, but they’re not blooming yet – as far as I know.

It’s a long wait, every year, for the budding trees and green grass and soft air. I’m still getting most of my flower fix from my beloved florist, and from the geraniums in my dining-room window. They are blooming as though it were June already, scarlet and cheerful. They care as little for the weather forecast as do the saucy robins I see hopping about on the river trail.

Some signs of spring arrive regardless of the weather: the approach of Commencement, the joy of Easter, the pageantry of the Masters. But I’m ready for it to feel like spring. I’m ready to revel in new beginnings. (And to wear lighter clothes, for a change.)

Until the forecast improves, I’ll be over here, bundled up, drinking tea, and watching the flowerbeds for (more) signs of color and life. Surely spring will win in the end. It always does.

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Poetry Friday: Alicia Suskin Ostriker

The City Crocuses

Up they come—the yellow ones
fierce as fighters and the purples shy and tender
wind funneling up from the river

blasts me in face and throat, winter gone,
and there’s more, the walk to the subway today
made me smile

because others were smiling
secretly to themselves, a few caught my eye
and said something grateful

about winter being over—
soon along Riverside Drive daffodils lilacs cherry
but for now the tiny snowdrops alyssum crocus

decide to stop waiting
they flex their little legs, they push
and divide the dirt and up they swim

This is the poem that impelled me to buy Suskin Ostriker’s newest collection, Waiting for the Light, back in February. When the crocuses began sprouting a few days later, I thought of it immediately.

April is National Poetry Month, and I am sharing poetry here on Fridays this month, as I do every year.

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