May 14, Thursday

Nearly another inch of rain overnight. The farmers can't get their corn planted, but my garden, lawn, and I love it.

The mysterious shoots where I knew I planted spinach finally have the makings of some crinkly-looking spinach leaves:

And my mesclun is invitingly juicy:

But both are still very small.

I awoke this morning to this gorgeous display in my front yard (click for a larger view):

That's a silver maple in the upper left and another two in the background, across the street. The two red ones are Crimson King Norway maples, or so I believe. My city lot has a total of 6 mature silver maples and the 2 Norways, along with 2 huge Colorado blue spruce and what appears to be a fruit-type tree that never fruits. I'm still trying to identify that one. I cut down a dead apple tree 2 years ago. All said, very little direct sunlight gets thru to my lawn, and my garden is in one of the few places it could possibly be, which happens to be right outside my back door.

The silvers are all about 50 feet high and may be indigenous. The red Norways were planted by the city when the street was developed in the late 60s. The spruce may have been planted by the developers. They don't belong in northern Illinois (the winters are too harsh) and they all have a disfuguring fungal disease called Rhizosphaera needle cast which causes the branches to brown and die off, starting at the bottom and working its way relentlessly toward the top. Trimming the dead branches at the bottom leaves you with a strange top-heavy topiary, not at all attractive.

My brother the realtor keeps telling me that silver maples are considered junk trees by my fellow homeowners because they rain a neverending plague of junk onto the lawn. There's no doubt about the deluge of sticks and branches, helicopters, and leaves. But I love my big gorgeous old trees. They're beautiful in all seasons, and their tiny buds are my first sign that the soul-crushing northern winter is finally coming to an end. My hammock is under one of them, and rocking quietly under it's huge canopy of green is one of life's most sublime pleasures. So I'll continue to rake up the fallen wood, mulch the leaves, and muck out the seedlings that take root in my gutters. I need the exercise. And I can always rest under my maples when I'm done.