A Little Ray of Sunshine

It seems incredible, but after being buried under a foot-plus of heavy, soaking wet snow a week ago, I now have 4 winter aconites by the front walk. They've got their little heads thrown back and are smiling up at me - what a welcome sight! I always love seeing the aconites pop up unexpectedly like this. Before the snowdrops, before the puschkinia (or whatever it is that the taxonomists have decided it should be called this week), before everybody decides to show themselves, there they are, bless their little yellow hearts. I've always been secretly envious of a house in this area - some homeowner many years ago planted a swath of aconites in the front yard, and the colony has grown immensely over the years to cover the entire yard! Oh, it's a glorious sight right now - and a happy and welcome one too.

This is not the earliest I've ever had aconites, though. The February that my mother died was an exceptionally mild one here in zone 5. She died on the 4th, and we returned from her funeral in Pennsylvania on the 9th. On a trip out to the car to get a forgotten item, I suddenly noticed that there was a small clump of aconites blooming profusely by the driveway. It may sound sentimental and mawkish to some, but I really felt that it was my mother's way of sending one last, loving goodbye to me. You see, my earliest gardening memories are of me at age 3, toddling around our yard toward the end of March, holding her hand as we looked for signs of spring around the house. "What's this, Mommy?" "A violet." "What's that one?" "A daffodil." In later years, when I was grown with a garden of my own, I would always, always call her to tell her what was coming up, and we'd eagerly compare notes. Spring is wonderful in some ways, difficult in others - the joy in seeing the world come alive once again is tempered by the knowledge that I can't call Mom to share that joy. But every time I see a new spring flower open up, I can't help smiling, and thinking how much I owe to my mother for making me a gardener all those years ago.