For five summers we have lived in this house, and have worked this backyard.  For five years we have tried to add more native plants for the wildlife in our midst, and plenty of containers with annuals that benefit birds, butterflies,  bees, and insects of all kinds. 

Our first summer here, in 2019, we purchased and added maybe 30 plants. Most natives and perennials. We worked hard, planting them in. Watering. Watching over them.  Even so, although many of them seemed to prosper during that initial season, they disappeared from the landscape, never to return.

Fortunately, a few have prospered: native bee balm being one of them.

Although I got a late start last spring and summer, I finally picked up some wildflower and zinnia seeds to plant in a few different pots and sections of the garden.  I hadn't started from seed before, so I was skeptical I would have any success.

After watching YouTube gardening videos and reading gardening articles and books, I determined that zinnias would be pollinator friendly, colorful, and a pretty safe bet.

​I picked up one native wildflower mix, and several packages of zinnia seeds, and I spread them around, in the garden, and in some containers as well. 

​Surprisingly, I had some luck. By the end of summer I had lots of zinnias and cosmos blooming. I tried to hold on to that good feeling to offer me inspiration for planting again, in spring.

I'm a fan  of visiting local flower farms to cut my own flowers for bouquets. It's a great way to be introduced to some of the different cutting flowers out there. And to get a closer view of the work that goes into such a farm.

If you're planning to visit some of our local flower farms this summer, check out this feature from last summer to get an idea of the farms out there - Sunflower Season - 2023. The work these farmers put into their blooms is endless, and the blooms are endlessly beautiful, too.

Dahlias, ranunculus, zinnias, and calendula are just some of the highlights I've seen.  Dahlias and ranunculus are grown from tubers (bulbs), and seem complicated to grow. But after watching some videos on growing them (again, YouTube), I worked up a little courage and decided to try.

(At left, a close-up of one of the beautiful dahlias I purchased last summer from local growers.)

Last fall I dug up the tubers for some of the dahlia plants I'd purchased for containers, and stored them in a paper bag in the garage for the winter.

I picked up a box of ranunculus bulbs at the hardware store, and even a few packages of them from a local dollar store. Low investment, low risk. I took some notes about pre-sprouting them, and dove into the process.

Pre-sprouting requires first soaking the bulbs in water for about 3 hours or so, then putting the bulbs/tubers in a shallow tray of soil, covering them over, and keeping them moist.

​If all goes well, they will put out roots and start sprouting. Once that happens, you can pot them up, or, if weather allows, put them straight in the ground or into patio containers.

When I made my first visit to Yerkes Observatory in early January, it was to see The World's Tallest Glass Tree - which was constructed on-site as part of a holiday festival.  I missed the festival, but I at least got to see the tree before it was dismantled.

The institute has been dedicated to the study of astronomy since it opened its doors in 1897. It closed down in 2018, but in recent years it was donated by the University of Chicago to the Yerkes Observatory Future Foundation and restorations began both inside and out. The institute has been operational again since 2020.
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Unfortunately, the historic building wasn't open the day I went to see the tree, and I haven't been able to schedule time for one of their detailed tours.

So, when I saw that they were having an open house and a solar eclipse viewing event, I purchased a ticket and made the short trip south of Milwaukee to Williams Bay to witness the eclipse with about 300 others.

Having seen the Great Refractor, I headed down the corridor to a display on the opposite side of the building. There Ozzie Osbourn, an astronomer with Yerkes Observatory, was guiding visitors through a series of astronomical glass plates, used in an early form of photography capturing images of the night sky as far back as the late 1800's. The observatory maintains a collection of these plates in numbers somewhere near 180,000.  Impressive is an understatement.

Ozzie also had a small telescope set up, in reverse, to create an eclipse projector. He showed me how the sunlight would pass through the eye piece, and project onto a piece of paper, and the floor, showing the current stage of eclipse. He also demonstrated how to capture the light with your hands and shadow as well. Since I didn't have the high-tech gear for capturing a great image of the eclipse as it appeared in the sky, these reflective versions were really unique options.

After checking out the scene indoors, I headed out to the south lawn viewing area. Folks were gathered, some on blankets or lawn chairs, eclipse viewing glasses on, watching the progress as the moon traveled further across the sun.

​So, did you see the eclipse? Based on my Instagram feed, lots of people did - people in Wisconsin, across the United States, and the world. Even if it wasn't viewable in totality everywhere, they still ventured outside to witness it.  An opportunity that won't come again until 2044.

From backyards to lakefronts, local parks and nature centers to libraries and parking lots, people traveled to locations where it could be viewed in totality (fully eclipsed), like Texas, Missouri, and Ohio, or stayed closer to home and viewed a partial eclipse. ​

April showers bring May flowers, the saying goes. Same for snow? I know, we live in Wisconsin, and weather is a fickle thing. At the crossroads of winter and spring it plays with our emotions. We revel in the warmer days, then dive into a funk when snow and cold sneaks back onto the scene. Sometimes within less than 24 hours. It's maddening.

This is one of the reasons I find our neighborhood parks to be such blessings. When the weather literally changes minute to minute, there's still a way to get outside and sneak in a bit of fresh air, maybe a walk along a short trail, or a few laps around a pond.

There's a hint of green peeking out on tree branches, and some of the spring migrants have begun to arrive - robins hunting for bugs and worms in the wet dirt, red-wing blackbirds calling from last summer's faded cattails.

In my anxiousness for true spring, warmer days, and wildflowers rising, in spite of the rain, I can't seem to stop myself from visiting one of several of my favorite local parks.

​Even if I just sit in my car and take in the view, the window cracked to hear the rain falling and the sound of birds calling. Sometimes it's just long enough for me to drink a bit of coffee, sort through my thoughts, maybe get through another chapter in whatever book I'm reading before I dig in to the rest of my day.

Other days I'm better prepared with a rain hat, an umbrella, waterproof hiking shoes, and I get out and walk in the rain, squish through a muddy trail. I feel almost virtuous when I do this. Though others do it on the regular.

While I'm safe and dry, ensconced in the drivers seat with my book and my thoughts, I witness several dedicated walkers doing laps around the pond in the rain. I try not to feel guilty.

Soon, with luck, the warmer days will outnumber the cold, and I'll finally get outside to start work on the garden. My Pinterest board is loaded with ideas, and there is plenty of work to be done.

​But then I'll be torn between heading out to a trail or working on our habitat for wildlife. Not a bad dilemma to have, I suppose. I'm looking forward to it. Greener days are coming!