Taking anything I can get right now...

I have been crab-o-licious the past few days and I don't like it. So rather than give into the whiny crabby tendencies that are ruling my world right now, I'm going to try and kill the crab with something sweet.

We're having a great flirtation with Spring. It's been sunny for over a week, my hellebore is in full bloom, and it's been staying light out so much later in the day (we're talking dusk after 6:00 PM, oh that makes me so happy)--of course having typed all of this I've probably jinxed us to a week's worth of rain and grey. Sorry, friends.

But, my favorite sign of spring is something a little more secretive.

One of my favorite things about my house is this great camellia shrub. It's planted squarely in front of my living room window, which when I bought the house during the summer months, I thought was great because it offered great privacy from the street, and honestly looking at the waxy green leaves beat any sort of view I would have on my block--ah, city living. It wasn't until last February, my first winter in the house that I realized why this plant was even more great than I had first thought.

Growing up in Colorado never afforded me the opportunity to see plants like hellebores, camellias, hydrangeas, tulips, daffodils, you name it, in their full glory. Maybe because winter there has the habit of sticking around and deep freezing until May, thus killing the lilacs you've been waiting for all year. Things blooming in February always amaze me, so when I first saw my camellia blooming I was beside myself.

First of all, I didn't even know this plant produced flowers--I thought it was fine with just leaves. But the blooms keep coming and coming and coming. However, it was the first bloom that caught my eye. Of all the buds on the tree that could have popped open, it was one that was right in my living room window, there it was just for me to see. A sign that the gloominess of winter was nearing an end.

You see her there saying, "Oh, hello, you." It's a bashful little bud, not wanting to show the rest of the neighborhood it's spring. So I relished in the fact that I got to keep her little secret.

Wouldn't you know it, I have another secret this year too. The first bud is in the same place. Just to prove it I took another picture. This time she's whispering, "You made it through the year."

She's actually really hard to see in that picture, but she's there (along with the great 1940s slipper chairs I found at an antique store. I heart them so). Here she is a little closer:
Note to self: Hey, crabby girl. Gather ye camellia buds while ye may...

To everything--every challenge, every sorrow, every smile, and every laugh--over the past year there was a season. And now my personal Spring is here, all thanks to my shrubbery... and there was much rejoicing.