Spring is a time of re-awakening, of the beginnings of new things, of hope, of fresh promises. The sleep of winter comes to an end. This is the time when the Bonsai grower re-awakens. The sap begins to stir in his little trees. And in his mind he begins to see visions and dream dreams.
The observant Bonsai grower will notice that his camellias are already in fat bud. Actually the buds have been there all winter. They formed last July and have been fattening ever since. Which is what makes a camellia such a fascinating tree to grow. It nourishes one’s expectations for so long a period. At first, say in August, it is impossible to distinguish between normal growth and bud formation, but eventually there comes that first heart-stopping moment when one can say with confidence ‘That’s a bud!’; and somehow at that moment it stops raining and the world seems a better place. In the months that follow the buds will thicken with maddening deliberation. Slowly, tantalisingly slowly, they make their hidden preparation for the grand opening day of their show. No dress rehearsal, just a complete perfect performance when all is ready one Spring day.
For the camellia, Spring is a time of fulfilment, of achievement after the long months of autumn and winter preparation. And during these long months the camellia will shine with confidence and rude health. The leaves will look as smug and polished as a newly-scrubbed schoolboy’s cheek.
By contrast, the Bonsai grower may also have in his collection a wisteria. During the autumn the wisteria looks distinctly unhealthy. And now that you are prepared for the worst, I must tell you that in winter it looks quite dead. Not just dead, but dead and thrown away. I tell myself it looked just like that last winter and yet survived. I don’t believe myself.
Close /
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Close examination shows places from which I suppose new growth might possibly come – with luck! I prepare myself for a long period of waiting.
Question. Would I rather have the long drawn out promise of the confident camellia buds swelling with maddening unspeed, or the agonising deadpan/dead-pan waiting game played by the wisteria? The wisteria plays dead, nothing showing, just brown twig until the very last moment when it just has to flicker an eyelid. And when it makes its first flicker be sure that I am there peering inside to see what I can see. If what I see is leaf, then I know there will be no flower this year, and so far as I am concerned the world is all darkness and it is raining. But if I see tiny little globules I know that they will soon blush to an unmistakeable purple, the colour of the wisteria flower, and suddenly everyone is lovely and loveable.
For the wisteria, Spring is a time of re-awakening from the dead sleep of winter, whereas for the camellia it seems to be the end of fulfilment of a process that began in the previous summer. Is Spring then an end or a beginning? Perhaps it’s more like a point on an endless circle or cycle of time.
The camellia and wiseria show very clearly the difference between evergreen and deciduous trees. Basically they face the same problem and solve it by methods that are completely opposite to one another. The problem is to survive the cold long nights of winter and yet be ready, trained and fit like an Olympic athlete for the explosive events of the Spring.
The camellia keeps its leaves all winter, protected by an impervious water-proofed covering that lets the rain pour off like water off a duck’s back. It is so confident of its protective coating it allows the buds all winter to form.
The wisteria is a deciduous tree, ie. it sheds all its vulnerable leaves and twigs before the onset of winter. One gets the impression that it /
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it would wear woollen gloves and a sheepskin coat if it could. It lies bare and doggo till the last possible moment and thus has a very short period of time in which to grow those great long purple flowers, shaped like a bunch of grapes, and only then, almost as an afterthought does it begin to put on some leaves.
When these trees burst into flower it’s hard to explain why I should feel so elated. Not just elated, but pleased with myself. My contribution towards this achievement has been virtually nil, my ignorance of how it comes about its infinite. But that’s how it is.
I remember the awe-struck words of the Psalmist ‘Oh Lord, how manifold are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them all’.
Unauthored and Undated
(Presumably by Matthew/Matt/M. Weir, Circa 1977-1980)
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