One of the cool things that I get to experience each season, here in midcoast Maine, is the admiration – via my computer screen – of so many spring gardens coming into being… before mine.

Often it’s my friend in Birmingham, Alabama who gets to brag on her irises blooming first.

Friends in both South Carolina and outside Indianapolis, Indiana find their natives blooming and bees and other pollinators bopping from flower to flower in early spring.

One friend in Oklahoma shares more about her spotted dogs than spotted foxgloves, but the heat gets turned up quickly where she is, and the storms – ones we would call ‘summer storms’ – are on her doorstep by May (latest!).

I don’t even know what to say about my friend in Las Vegas.

I’m pretty sure she can’t go outside, but for about three days on either side of Christmas. And, even then, she only gets to see a cactus or two, because all flowers are irradiated within seconds of opening.

I may not be being fair to Vegas.

But here on this island in Maine? Where Mud Season shoehorn’s its way in between winter and the series of months that most people in North America call Spring?

My peonies haven’t even opened.

That said, they are unlikely to be irradiated. Also, it seems like this week – nearly mid June – things are really starting to happen.

One of the oriental poppies – papaver orientale ‘Royal Wedding’ (above) – opened this morning for the first time. I still cannot get over how much – when she’s fully open –  it looks like someone dipped a brush in deep purple paint and took a few swipes on the bright white, as if it needed some contrast to be noticed (it would not… but, then again, I’m not complaining).

The globe flowers – trollius europaeus (and don’t ask me how to pluralize that) – are waving their double buttercup-y flowers all over the dang place when the wind blows.

And my irises… oh my irises… I don’t even know what kind they are (possibly Iris Germanica ‘Absolute Crush’). I don’t even care. I’m smitten. They are swaying back and forth as I type, here on the screened porch, next to some brand new cranesbill geranium blossoms.

The chives and catmint are happily waving to folks along the street, and welcoming those who turn into our driveway.

My excitement is building daily… because there’s so much happening, so much to come.

See that? Right there at the sign? That’s one of the Casa Blanca lilies. As of now, it’s me vs. Bambi to see if I can get it all the way to a bloom (usually about the beginning of August).

When I’m planning or planting or weeding or just existing in the garden, I often find my mind drifting to a quote attributed to Audrey Hepburn… “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.”

It’s a hope thing.

Gardens and hope go hand-in-hand.

Little bit of faith in there too. Has to be.

I think… Oh.

I’m so sorry. I have to go!

Through the lupines – all volunteers – on the waterside, I can see JoHn heading out to meet June (she’s being delivered today). Okay, now I’m mentally pinching myself as I watch JoHn maneuver our neighbor’s skiff alongside our little wooden lobsterboat, helping Mitch – the talented and knowledgeable (and funny) owner of the boat restoration/spiffer-uppering/boat storage place – get June settled on her mooring.

How did we come to be in this place?

I mean, I know the steps we took… I can connect the dots backward. But some moments just get me. Just as JoHn stepped aboard June – named after both Mac (her first name is June) and Granny – a working lobsterboat slid through the water just behind them.

Gulls are chatting overhead. An osprey is calling out from someplace I can’t see.

I’m gonna grab my camera so I can get a few shots. JoHn has recently joined Instagram because he is a big time thriller author now (Yep, a three book deal!) and Mac and I are helping him with his social media content (we’re teaching him the lingo). If you want to, you can follow him here: https://www.instagram.com/r.johndingle/

Okay, I’m off!

Have a good rest of your day (or night (I’m not picky)) and…

Thanks for readin’.

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