According to the official calendar, spring arrived four days ago. Yet two days ago we received the largest dump of snow we’ve had all year — 40 centimeters, or almost 16 inches.
A late winter snowstorm is not unusual in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, where my garden Glen Villa is located. Snow tires are required in Quebec during winter; this year they could be removed legally after March 15. Pity anyone who did that — the big dump came a full week later. Driving during the storm was perilous, even for a population that is accustomed to dealing with, and well equipped to handle, the conditions.
A narrow road runs between these evergreens but you wouldn’t know it from this photo.
When snow falls in the late winter or early spring it often melts quickly, but this time, with so much snow, the piles will hang around for a while. And while they do, the accumulated snow is beautiful to behold. Some snow is light and fluffy. This snow was heavy, weighing down the branches of the hawthorn trees beside our drive.
I think the branches will spring back once the snow melts. But more fragile branches will break from this much weight.
Hillsides turned white as the wet snow clung to the branches of trees.
It’s difficult to show how white everything looks after a heavy snowfall like this one.
Bare branches that normally are black turned white, coated with wet snow.
Branches outlined against a brilliant blue sky sparkle as the snow begins to melt.
The straight lines of the crabapple allée stood out starkly against the snow-covered field.
Someone was snowshoeing along the crabapple allée. This area is part of Timelines, a 3 km trail at Glen Villa that explores ideas about time, identity and our relationship to the land.
In the plantation, where straight lines order you to follow a single path, an old cherry tree twisted and turned, almost as if it were shivering in the cold.
The old cherry tree is named in honour of the Quebec artist Melvin Charney whose works of art perfectly capture the contrast between naturally straight and artificially distorted trees.
I can’t help but envy those whose gardens are now bright with colour — daffodils and tulips, muscari and anemones. But those of us who garden in cold climates know we just have to wait. The colours will arrive. Eventually.
