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. ~Charlotte Brontë
Time for me these days is measured in garden time – the fits and starts of growth over days and weeks, never the same scene twice. The emergence of hints of green in early spring are transformed within a few weeks . . .
into a full throated chorus of rich textures and layers.
This has been a spring of extremes – days of hot weather, often over 80º F (27ºC) followed by days of bitter cold, with nighttime temperatures dropping to -20º F (-29º C), separated by a week of normal weather, and then repeated over and over throughout March and April. How anything in the garden survived is a mystery to me but also reassures me that nature is resilient beyond reckoning.
Fog arose after a February snowfall melted in sudden warm weather. 
By April, the garden had changed from gray and brown to a full spectrum of color. 
A violent wind storm in March
had unfortunate consequences for our neighbor’s house. We went to our basement to be safe but were thankfully spared any damage.
There are so many things to be done in the garden this spring. The Garden Conservancy Open Days tour on June 13 looms large on my “to do” list, pushing me to complete unfinished projects and make the garden ready for visitors. Special attention was given to the newer areas featuring native plants. 
Each autumn our township collects all the fallen leaves from the neighborhoods and creates large compost mounds that decay for 3 years. They provide a mountain of leaf mold each April, free for the residents. 
My garden guys had already loaded and spread 3 cubic yards for me but I went back a week later to get another 1/2 yard to cover more of the woodland gardens. It is the perfect mulch for native plants – it improves the soil without triggering excessive growth.
The woodland plants reveled in their new coat of leaf mold
while colorful blooms filled the sunny parts of the garden.
I was inspired to show the rate of change in the garden this year, which seemed to be captured best through video.
Wishing you a beautiful season of growth and blossoming!
All text, photos, and videos ©2026 Lynn Emberg Purse, except where noted.
Our wild violets (Viola sororia) have been blooming for weeks
and are now joined by the soft blue and white blossoms of hardy geraniums.
Each morning this week began with a walk through an ever-changing garden. Spring is building up to an astonishing crescendo of color and texture and growth, all laid against a ground of fresh green. The early dawn chorus of birdsong masks the ordinary noises of the world – robins, bluejays, cardinals, and red-tailed hawks zoom through the woods as they raise new families, argue over territory, and search for food. As I wander through the garden every day, the same song comes to mind. “Morning has broken like the first morning; blackbird has spoken like the first word.” Yes, each morning this week feels like the first morning, fresh, new, full of life.
Spring has arrived with great hesitation, or perhaps I only greet it this way. Warm days abruptly end in snow or frost, pouring rain soaks the ground and triggers green growth which is then stopped short by another deep freeze. I’ve never witnessed such extreme disruption in the garden. Although many of the early daffodil blooms hang to the ground in surrender, other growing things, especially ones native to this area, are coping with the dramatic and abrupt changes and reveal their beauty to the eye. I must admit to a deep uneasiness – will this scenario continue in the future as we grapple with climate change? How will the creatures who depend on pollen and other garden foods at crucial times cope or even survive? Here’s what the National Wildlife Federation has to say about 
Nevertheless, each day brings new growth and beauty. The hellebores continue to spring back after the worst conditions and a few sleepyheads are just beginning to bloom now. Bird song is a constant soundtrack to my journeys through the garden and a pair of robins follow me around as I expose the earth while digging up dandelion roots. The first blooms on the weeping cherry that survived sudden sub-zero temperatures are nuzzled by a native bee desperate for spring pollen. Tiny wind anemones and grape hyacinth bloom amid the warm rock walls. Foliage in shades of green and red rises up from the ground, displacing the last of the fallen oak leaves that blanketed the beds all winter. Now is the time for cleaning up the garden, trimming roses and shrubs, and planting seeds indoors in anticipation of summer. Prolific rains have created vernal pools and streams through the woods and spring peepers have been singing their high chweeps of courtship on warmer evenings.
composerinthegarden 