Since it’s been cold for so long, the plants are taking advantage of sunshine and warmth to emerge quickly. The usual sequence of spring blooming has been shortened dramatically, and everything from hellebore to daffodil to azalea is appearing all at once. The peonies are budding, and I suspect the roses won’t be far behind. Weeding on a windy Saturday, I’m trying to stay ahead of this sudden burst of vegetation. Plenty of grape ivy, witch grass, and poison ivy to keep me busy when the ground is soft after the rain. And plenty of bright violets to remind me that one woman’s weed is another woman’s wealth. I love violets, and they are welcome in my garden (though I do occasionally move them so they don’t nudge out a more delicate perennial). They are reminders of my childhood in France, where every spring I would wander through the park surrounding our house hunting for the deep violet-blue blossoms. I loved to gather handfuls and arrange them into perfect bouquets held in place with the green heart-shaped leaves, which I would then present to my mother. I still collect bouquets every spring (only now I photograph them). Some gardeners may view violets as a nuisance to be eradicated, but the value of these old-fashioned favorites is in their unpretentious presence. I can’t imagine my garden without them.