Amy in the Garden

Spring is here, with bright bursts of color appearing in the brown landscape. The hillside behind our house is still brown, but the saucer magnolia is sporting swelling ovals of pink and white, and the daffodil bunches are bright yellow, or white and salmon, and increasing in number as the catalog promised. A “naturalizing” variety, to be sure! The claims were true.

Sunlight through the pink and white, with the yellow daffodils below.

I planted our front slope with pink-only daffodils.

Also adding to the color voice are the periwinkles, a pet project of Husband. He appreciates ground covers, with their promise of an attractive release from work. I was able to dissuade him from ivy or pachysandra, especially when he discovered that we had ample periwinkle already, struggling to claim the hillside. (Add “free” to “attractive” for the release from work-adjectives.)

When we first moved in, our hillside was covered with dead wild-rose canes, 4-5’ high, and we spent about 6 murderous weeks clearing it. Our reward was space to plant saplings and daffodil bulbs, and to discover the pretty rocks and periwinkle vines hidden beneath.

The new growth reaches for the spring sun.

One of my favorite books has a chapter on periwinkles. The book is, sadly, out of print and what I wouldn’t give to have Interweave Press publish it once again. The book is by Sharon Lovejoy: “Sunflower Houses: Garden Discoveries for Children of All Ages.” It is a collection of projects, lore, and delightful illustrations, and would be the perfect gift for new parents, or new gardeners, or lovers of garden fairies (like me).

In the periwinkle chapter, Lovejoy relates the tale of the periwinkle’s paintbrush. It begins as tales often do, at The Beginning – in this case, the First Spring. All of the flowers were beautiful in shape and form, but they were all white. No color was to be seen. The last flower created, the periwinkle, was tasked with correcting this sad situation. He was daunted. “How can a little flower like me color all of the flowers of the world?”

He was told that the rainbow was his endless source of color, and the paintbrush was already a part of him. (Symbolism clearly on display here.)

If you gently take off each petal of the periwinkle, and gently unwrap the outer wrapping of the pistil/stamen, you will see a wee paintbrush, perfect for tiny fairy hands, perfect to paint the flowers of the world. I think it is a charming story.

Here are a few photos of the periwinkle’s paintbrush. We are so grateful for the hard work of this modest flower and its tiny tiny brush that colors each spring.

It looks as if a star fell into the center of the blossom.

Gently pull each petal off the blossom, and unwrap the base....

And like magic:

...you find the tiniest fairy paintbrush, ready to color the flowers for spring.

WORDS FROM OTHERS

“In the language of flowers, the periwinkle is the symbol of pleasures, of memory and early friendship.”

— Sharon Lovejoy, “Sunflower Houses”