Last week I was speaking to my folks who have had a very cold and snowy winter, up North in Toronto.
Weather is always a topic of conversation and when there are such differences of climate between NY and To, it comes up often.
We also talk a lot about gardens, and I often get to brag about how this flower or that shrub has come into bloom, while my parents give a little gasp, signifying that they are weeks away from such a glorious event.
My Dad has a thing for forsythia. I do not know for sure whether or not he likes it a lot or whether, it is for him simply a good and clear sign of spring.
He had told me, that once while traveling through New York during the second world war that he had seen it blooming here. The date he clearly remembers is March 17th, as that is St.Patricks day.
Every year I scavenge around Queens looking for the first yellow flowers. To date I have not been able to equal his discovery of years ago.
I thought maybe that we had succeeded here this year while I was away. It had been a very temperate and pleasant winter, and while I was in North Africa, the weather was consistently mild. I did not get back however, until the 27th, so I will never know for sure if the yellow bushes blossomed with their spring time promise.
At the end of our conversation about weather, and getting back into the swing of things, my Mum asked about Pussy Willows. I realized, that she too, always asks about them, every spring, in her own quiet way. There was a warm loving sound in her voice, that only a mom can make. She had asked about them with the kind of expression, that made me want to run out the back door right then and there. Cut some, bundle them up, and drive north and take them to her door.
I could not do that of course. All I could do was take these pictures and tell her that I loved her.