One of my favorite things about April is that it’s when our camellias bloom, filling the garden with tiny, pink clouds.
In the early years of our shade garden, we often wished that we could plant camellias, whose quiet, cheerful flowers we thought would provide a perfect canopy above the elegant, subdued hellebores. But we always refrained, knowing that winters in New York City were too cold (even during the era of global warming), until one year we discovered that science had created a cold-hardy variety. We bought one in the mail from an independent, non-chain nursery, which are like independent, non-chain bookstores, but for plants.
For the first few years, it struggled, but then we moved it to a different spot, where it settled in and began to flourish. We now have three — pink, white, and red — but the red one (the youngest) didn’t bloom this year. Our hope is that it’s still getting established, which I imagine is a something of a prayer in the religion of gardening. But the white one has two blooms, and the pink is overflowing with flowers.
The flowers don’t last more than a few weeks, which makes me appreciate them while they’re here.
And a little sad to think about how they’re already preparing to go.
