The snow from our March blizzard has nearly all melted, but inevitably there’s that stubborn section on the north side of the garage that takes forever to melt.  Between its position and the accumulation of snow from the garage roof, there’s always a large pile of compacted snow there.

What I’ve discovered as the mounds of snow receded is – in my mind at least – one of nature’s miracles.  The row of lilacs flattened by the two feet of heavy, wet snow have mostly recovered.  Several large branches weren’t flexible enough to spring back once the weight melted from them.  Instead they simply snapped, leaving me with the sad task of pruning the damaged limbs at a time when the row of lilacs will be readying to leaf out for this year’s display of beautiful flowers and heavenly frangrance.  If you’ve never had the pleasure of breathing in the scent of lilacs in the spring, you’ve missed one of Mother Nature’s most wonderful gifts.  I’m thankful for all the limbs that didn’t succumb to the storm’s ravages and being able to anticipate this year’s blooms.

I’m happy to say, the witch hazel I fretted over (and waded through thigh high snow to shake its branches to free them of the snow’s weight) has bounced back wonderfully.  It remains in full bloom as though the storm never happened.  And yes, it was worth the wading and struggling and falling on my backside in the snow and wondering what I’d do if I couldn’t pull myself upright from my position sitting neck deep in a snow drift. 

My other most anxious concerns during the storm were the blueberry and honeyberry bushes that vanished beneath the snow and the second (this one fall blooming) witch hazel that also vanished.  While the blueberry has mostly bounced back, part of it remains pinned beneath one of those lilac branches that needs to be pruned.  The honeyberry doesn’t seem to have minded the inconvenience of burial beneath all that snow one bit.

Other trees and shrubs all seem to have weathered the storm admirably, much to my relief.  All-in-all, it seems the blizzard was winter’s last blast.  Things will move along quickly from this point onward.  The garden will change a bit every day, with the brown uglies of early spring giving way to a magnificent greening, subtle at first then bursting into being as leaf buds unfurl and the garden wakes up.  And I intend to enjoy every minute of it.