Columbine Season

So, my darlings, now that tulip season is over...what next? I long ago quit categorizing the complexity of my garden's yearly metamorphosis...

into simple seasonal definitions like spring-summer-fall and winter.

Instead, I began to see it as a series of seasonal and floral premieres. The tulips
open the spring season with show stopping garden theater: blockbuster color and texture (and to great reviews this year).

But their performance is over and Spring II, Columbine Season, begins. The columbine bloom overlaps that of the tulips for a bit. Their color - a lilac blue - echoes the color...

of the pansies and violas, blooming ajuga, and the remaining delicate faces of the paler Emerald Blue Creeping Phlox (find it here).  

By the time they begin their display, the spring-fresh chartreuse actors -  golden feverfiew, Lime mound spirea, small leaved euonymous 'Emerald 'n Gold (find it here), and the ubiquitous golden creeping money wort are in full form.

I do ADORE this marriage of favorite combination in the garden.

Columbine demands little to nothing of this director. I provide spare discipline or intentional staging. Over the years I have let it self-seed with abandon. Unlike other rampant self-seeders, I have found no downside to letting it have its way...wandering, scattering, fluttering about where it is so inclined.

 And flutter and dance and preen it does! 

Ever so delicate periwinkle heads...almost insect-like in detail...are suspended on stick straight tall stems...that sway in the breeze (okay, WIND!)...dancing charmingly while looking down at the earth and their shorter garden companions...without a hint of condescension I must add.

Delightful as individuals...glorious in great sweeps...they have become one of my favorite flowers. 

There are other colors of course...but only my beloved lilac and the sparse few pale yellow...

are permitted to reside in my garden. I am not a fan of the more strident hues. I cannot give you many particulars about my columbine...

save that the pioneers were sown from seed I 'borrowed' from a Munich beer garden on a visit to Germany ever so long ago. 

They have not seemed to mind their forced immigration to America's heartland and being pressed into my servitude here.

They seemingly don't resent being a constant reminder to me of their happy acquisition and introduction to my home on the prairie.

 Indeed, I feel they know they are loved, adored, and ever so welcome here.