Matthew Gallaway

The March of the Azalea (May)

Our double-blossom azalea is one of those rare plants that seemed to be perfectly happy from the moment we planted it.  We've never moved it, and it's never asked to be moved. 
Every May it basically goes insane with white flowers.  White is not the easiest color to capture with a photograph, I've learned. 
I've tried sun and shade and neither really captures the effect.  It might be time for a new camera. 
Or maybe it's better just to use your imagination. 

The Garden Report (Saturday)

May is like the grand finale of a fireworks display; some flowers -- like the phlox -- are beginning to fade, while the evergreens and azelea are bursting.  We thought that all of our primroses had died, but this one came back, and is surrounded by a carpet of veronica with tiny white flowers. 
The camellia has a few, final blossoms whose form it seems to have perfected after practicing all spring.  The Eskimo Sunset, which was on life support last year, is growing almost manically; for the first time in a few years, it doesn't seem to have any bugs, so we have our fingers crossed that it's going to make it. 
The Japanese maple "Elizabeth" also seems to be happy after its move to a shadier spot.  We haven't had a lot of luck with our evergreens -- they need a lot of sun and space -- but our Norway spruce, which we positioned to have both, is thriving. 
In March the garden seemed almost desolate; now, just two months later, it's verdant; you walk on the path where the leaves whisper "you must change your life." 

The Rose Project (Homecomings)

When I woke up, there were roses everywhere.   They were having a party.  It was a rose party. 
I crashed it and had a pretty good time. 

The Garden Project (Jack Frost Brunnera)

One of our shade perennials is a variety of Brunnera called "Jack Frost," named after the famous explorer.  The tiny flowers are a perfect shade of blue. 
They are distant stars in the sky of our garden.  "I love spring flowers!" -- Dante
"I hate Jack Frost almost as much as I hate flying snakes." -- Elektra

The Geraniums Project (Dallas)

Today was mostly an airport day; the heavy rains in New York caused delays of many hours, during which I sat around one of the terminals in Dallas.  But really, I couldn't be too upset, because at least I made it home in one piece. 
And I saw some very pretty geraniums outside of my hotel yesterday; they were already glowing under the hot Texas sun. 

They weren't the only ones. 

The Bricks and Moss Project (Gardens)

I'm still in Dallas, where I've learned that there are many highways.Which is another kind of metaphor for a moss-covered brick path. 
"Just not as good, though." -- Dante

The Bryant Park Project (Imaginary Commutes)

The trees of Bryant Park are officially leafing out now, all stretching in the direction of the sun.
I pass them almost every morning on my way to work; if I have a few extra minutes, I'll stop and talk to them. They are old enough to make almost any problem I have feel trivial. This morning, however, I'm on a (wifi) equipped airplane (for business purposes), so I have to imagine the trees of Bryant Park. I'm sure they miss me as much as I miss them.  Below me are the clouds, which offer a different but related kind of canopy. 

A Short Play about Perfect Weather (Flying Snakes)

Dante: Pretty nice weather, right? 
Elektra: Nice weather for flying snakes, unfortunately. 
Dante: At least it's not raining, right? 
Dante: Can I go inside now? 

The Garden Report (Saturday)

If you're in New York City, I hope you're outside today.  I just dashed in to post some pictures of our black hellebore. 
If you stare at the sun for a few seconds and then look at the flowers, everything will be a little blurry, like you're in a dream. 

The Morning Commute in Washington Heights (Shadows)

Lately the weather has been so perfect that I sometimes I think we all died and went to heaven.  Or maybe that already happened, even before the weather attained this transcendent perfection. 
What's certain is that we are all shadows in the lives we truly lead.