Spring drew on…and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps. ~Jane Eyre
On this first day of May, I look out the window and see green – green! – on the tree branches. Flowers have been blooming since February – snowdrops, crocus, daffodils, tulips – and their color is so welcome. Yet when the woods light up in delicate green, it feels as if spring is complete.
The ostrich ferns have completely unfurled, refracting light through their intricate fronds 
while the sunlight pouring through white daffodil ‘Bella Coola’ turns its petals translucent. 
The weather has had several wild swings this spring, hot summer temperatures for days in early spring followed by deep drops into bitter cold, the process repeated again and again. Yet the plants have survived somehow, resilient and beautiful.
Parts of the garden have come fully into bloom – the grape and lemonade bed is always its showiest this time of year.
After years of tolerating our makeshift garden gate built of fence parts, I found a beautifully crafted gate to create a dramatic entrance into the garden.
Green isn’t the only foliage color in the garden now – the red Japanese maples have fully unfurled their leaves
as has the purple smokebush entwined with Clematis ‘Sweet Sugar Blues’. 
Our wild violets (Viola sororia) have been blooming for weeks
and are now joined by the soft blue and white blossoms of hardy geraniums.
My latest garden video traces the gradual emergence of spring and the light that shines through the garden at this bewitching time of year.
Wherever you are in the world, and in whatever season you find yourself, may you see the light shining through the beautiful things around us.
As I turned to him in puzzlement, he went on to say that he hadn’t walked through the arbor into that part of the garden in a long time, having been content to admire it from the deck while playing his guitar. 
Walking into the garden gave him a completely different perspective of what it meant to stand in the space and be enveloped by it. I was deeply moved by his reaction yet it confirmed what I’ve always believed about a garden – to truly experience it, you need to walk through it, not just look at it. Those of you who garden or who hike in nature surely know this difference.
There was no hurry or bustle this morning, just a task completed here and another one begun there with no sense of a clock ticking or a checklist to follow. Time was instead measured by new flowers opening, the sudden low buzz of a hummingbird passing, and the occasional visit from a fat bumblebee.
The spring bulbs have finished for the season – one final blossom of the summer snowflake (Leucojum aestivum) lingers among the ferns.
Allium and Camassia, the bulbs of May, come forward to have their say in shades of purple and blue while Lilac ‘Miss Kim’ is just starting to bloom. (Click on any photo to see the full size image)
and the colorful sunset above the bare trees inspiring. 
But soon the wild winds of March blew in from the west, bending and creaking the bare trees. A day later, the snow began to fall, enormous fluffy flakes that coated everything in a magical layer of white. Never mind that the winter had already expressed itself in snow and ice many times, the effect was charming and worthy of a short video.
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