(Second Part: Of Man’s Redemption—Questions 12-85)
26. What dost thou believe when thou sayest: I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth?
- That the eternal Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who of nothing made heaven and earth, with all that in them is, who likewise upholds and governs the same by His eternal counsel and providence, is for the sake of Christ His Son my God and my Father; in whom I so trust, as to have no doubt that He will provide me with all things necessary for body and soul; and further, that whatever evil He sends upon me in this vale of tears He will turn to my good; for He is able to do it, being Almighty God, and willing also, being a faithful Father.
his week finds the common daffodil in full swing, where, in the same spot this time last week, there was but one.
Not 
anything like what you might expect, if you have ever had the more traditional veronica varieties with their striking blue spikes in early summer. This one hugs the ground at no more than an inch tall with so many half-inch blooms at its peak that you cannot see the foliage beneath. This early in the season, only a few of the blue blossoms are open, but you can see the potential in the many tight buds surrounding them. In the winter the foliage turns a deep purple/brown-ish-ness—well sort-a.
The genus Forsythia was named after the Scottish botanist William Forsyth (1737-1804) who first brought the plant from China to England. I am not sure of the species of this particular plant, for there are many hybrids and cultivars around. This one appears to be an improved variety of some sort, as the blooms are a bit lighter yellow than most you see around old abandoned homesteads. My wife especially favors this light canary-yellow forsythia over the more common ones bearing near-orange yellow blossoms. She took this shot, framing our house in the back ground between the branches, which some describe as “leggy,” and others, more kind, “open.” You can’t force it to thicken up, so it’s best to keep pruning to a minimum, and only in the spring right after the blossoms fade. After this show in spring it’s just another deciduous shrub, so place it where it will “fade” into the general landscape.
Flowering quince, another old-fashioned shrub, is generally found where forsythia is found. It too has little to offer after the spring show, so don’t make it the centerpiece of your landscape. The old timers often mistakenly called it japonica after the species of its Latin name, Chaenomeles japonica. The red blossoms of the quince resemble apple blossoms, of which they are related, and a few of the blooms do turn into odd little misshapen “apples.” There is a quince of some near relation whose fruit is used to make jellies and preserves, but I’ve never seen one. This shot was also taken by my wife.
These last little dainties are snowdrops, Galanthus nivalis. One of the lesser spring bulbs, it is best viewed with your face to the ground turned sideways, as the pure white blooms droop down from stalks barely three inches tall. The little ring of bulbs we planted some years ago around a Chinese dogwood seem to be prospering, but I fancy our summer climate is a bit extreme. I have never seen snowdrops elsewhere, but the catalog photos show them to be a bit larger than these. This shot is mine, for alas, my dear wife’s shot was from an “aerial” vantage point.
In the oddest of places, a hymn book, quite by accident I stumbled across this little bit a few days ago:
This week we are weaning ourselves back to just two plants in bloom for our Friday Floral post: one shrub and one spring bulb. If you could only walk around the yard and see what isn’t being covered by this extraordinary restraint, it would make you weep. Maybe some of it will still be in bloom in future weeks. Let’s hope so. These photos were taken by my wife throughout this week. Enjoy.
The genus Viburnum represents a class of shrubs that has dozens, possibly hundreds of cultivars, and yet they are virtually unknown in the home landscape. So many plant materials are snubbed because they are not evergreen, despite the fact that the sameness of evergreens can sometimes translate into “boring.” This is something we have tried to avoid, using evergreens—mostly holly, and boxwood—mainly as hedge material on our property borders. On the other hand, so many deciduous shrubs have their week of glory, and then blend into a different kind of “boring” for the rest of summer. And they are leafless all winter long, to boot. I can understand that too. And that is the very reason we love the four different Viburnum in our landscape. They have more to offer than a short-lived pretty face in spring. Beginning in winter the tidy, mid-sized shrubs are indeed leafless, but with steel-gray stems forming interesting patterns against the brown turf and blue sky. (Don’t even think about snow. I won’t allow it.) In late winter pointed scale-patterned buds stud the terminals of each branch. In early pre-spring those buds swell and take on a rich pink hue. Mid March heralds true spring with what you see here: the palest of pink blossoms covering the entire shrub. But what your senses cannot gather in from this page is the sweet smell that blankets our entire front yard. It is indescribable. This specimen is Viburnum ‘Korean Spice’ which is a hybrid of two other Viburnum species. After the big show in spring, Viburnum sports semi-leathery leaves, each species and cultivar with its own distinctive leaf pattern, veining, and hue. The flowers produce red berries, again each kind having its own shade of red, with some species sporting almost black berries. The birds devour the berries once they are ripe, so this part of the show doesn’t last all summer. Their combination of size and hardiness makes Viburnum perfect for the low-maintenance home landscape.
My wife loves hyacinths. Though the waxy flower spikes only last a few days, and the bulbs eventually have to be replanted every so often, they are well worth the minimal effort. They come in many colors, and all are fragrant. I like them too.
anatic: Anybody who loves Jesus more than you do.
Sometimes it’s the little things, the small details that brings me such joy in the spring landscape. Sure, the grand sweep of a bank of pink azaleas under a grove of loblolly pine is stunning, but you have to stand back far away to take it all in. In those scenes, sometimes I feel a bit detached from it all, because to get closer is to loose the beauty. The parts of the landscape I like the best are those elements that are best appreciated on your hands and knees.
