JOY ALONG THE WAY: ARRANGING SOME PROMISES OF SPRING

I have a new floral arrangement to perk up fickle February. That is, if you can call two little yellow blossoms a floral arrangement. More properly it would be called a stick arrangement. Following is how it came about:

I thought it about time to take some clippings from my forsythia bushes to force the buds into early blossoming. I did find the two little yellow blossoms mentioned above. I wondered what would happen if I took clippings from other bushes and trees, and placed them in a water-filled vase. I probably could have called Dr. Grow and found out, but it seemed a worthwhile experiment, particularly since I've always been intrigued with buds and their tight packaging of the mysterious blueprint of flowers or leaves inside.

So, around the premises I went, on a sloppy day I might mention, and clipped off varying lengths of said bushes and tree twigs. I thought at first I should take labeling materials along with me for later identification, but scorned the idea, remembering my lifelong interest and examination of such things.

I started with the pin oaks. I was just barely able to reach a branch that had some tiny buds on it and these almost hidden by a cluster of those winter hanging, dried leaves. I thought that one or two of these buds were big enough that I could peal back the brown covering husks to see what was going on inside. Next came the sugar maples. The emerging buds were not much bigger than seed ticks, but I managed to reach a couple of clippings. Then came the dogwoods. The pink flowering trees were stingy with their buds, but the white flowering ones were very satisfactory. There were the familiar little round buds, appearing to be tiny shoe buttons. They actually look like a shrunken dried blossom, except they are gray.

The Bridal Wreath was next. Their buds were little more than freckle-sized lumps along the bark but I took several samples anyway because the little twigs were so graceful and dainty. They would be for my arrangement what baby's-breath is for roses.

The sweet gums offered a little more substance. Peeling the brown wrappings back, I found green. When I got to the lilac bushes, I hesitated. The buds were more pronounced and full of promise. I wanted to be sure not to take a clipping where I could destroy a flower that I'd miss in April.

The nandina bushes were a saving grace for what I was now visualizing as an experimental arrangement. They were already leafed out, one in beautiful purple, the other in red.

Paul's Scarlet and Queen Anne's roses showed nothing. I think I'm losing them. Must transplant for more sun. The euonymus bushes were another saving grace. Green all year long, they had a few little radish-seed-sized buds on very short stems but they, being green, along with the colorful nandina clippings would keep one from laughing at the whole.

The Bradford pear buds were encouraging. But best of all was the witch hazel, the last to be clipped. The witch hazel bush is an engaging sight just as it now stands. The multitudinous squiggly blossom buds make the whole bush look as if it had been wrought from some witch's brew. By next week those squiggly looking things will be orange-red blossoms. I cut several branches to include in my arrangement.

I filled a vase with water, put in a smidgen of plant food and set the whole mysterious looking thing in front of my sunny south window to see if the buds grow any more or just dry up and fall off.

I must say, although beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that the whole thing is somewhat graceful looking with the aura of promising growth emanating from it.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.