Spring Surprises
Spring, the season of surprise and discovery.
It is always expected, often anticipated, but when it finally arrives it still catches you unawares and leaves you marveling that, for all the watching and waiting, you somehow missed its first tentative call.
One day as we drive down the mountain the late wintry mist lifts and we suddenly see the new red leaves of the cedars spiking through the still winter-sombre silver of the eucalypt crowns and the golden puffs of wattle bursting through the lower growth thickets, signs of the hidden treasures in the valley below.
We know that edging the tracks through the heathlands and woodlands the shy natives will soon be adorning the undergrowth with sparkling jewels, the rich rose Boronias, blue Dampiera, the purple Patersonia, and the tiny native orchids hanging more gracefully than any man-made earring.
But the King of the bush in spring must surely be the Waratah.
We have the most spectacular plant right next to the steps leading up to our verandah and front door, two metres high and completely covered in scarlet crowns.
I have bought a white Waratah to guard the other side of the steps.
I know its reign may be shaky, but if it grows and flowers like its cousin, we well have the most spectacular contrast of colour imaginable. I think I might feel a little like the adventuring Alice caught between the warring roses, only in my case it will be the red and white waratahs.
The bush is always full of spring discoveries, as most of us don't know it as well as we know our own gardens.
But these also contain hidden or forgotten treasures; each spring in my own patch I am forever surprised. The lavenders and orange poppies and intense blues of the echium are constant and expected, but no less enjoyed for all that.
But it is the green tips of bulbs suddenly pushing through the still cold soil, the sudden appearance of new plants, whose existence I had completely forgotten or that had lain dormant for some years or had simply germinated naturally, which brings the most excitement. For spring is the most exciting time of the year. We can forget the heavy skies and clinging mud of months past and emerge from the winter greyness with a new invigoration.
There is light and a sense of freedom.
Life is bursting from its cold weather cocoon. Suddenly after the winter's dearth there is a surfeit of chook eggs and for the first time we see a mother wombat shepherding her baby through the undergrowth.
The birds herald the morning light earlier and earlier, the click of the dog's paws on the wooden floors signal the start of a day's activity and the grandchildren follow his example. How is it that we still want to sleep in?
Everything is possible in spring; we haven't yet slumped into the lethargy of summer.
This is the time of year to make resolutions, when we still have the optimism and energy to carry them out,
not on the 1st January after the stultifying effects of food and heat and partying.
That optimism can be felt in the adrenalin rush of cars hooning along the road to Flat Rock. However, for all its promise, spring can be a bit of a tease; the water is still dark and icy and not many are actually prepared to brave it.
For spring is capricious. New blooms shake and shiver in a sudden cold wind and we dread the prospect of a late frost on vines and fruit trees if capriciousness turns to churliness.
We rush to put winter rugs back on shivering horses and resist the temptation to uncover the freshly cleaned fireplace.
We know the cold snap will pass, for it is spring. And before long I will be able to sit again on the verandah in the morning sun, enjoy a cup of coffee and anticipate the approach of summer.