May glides onward into June

Time is a funny thing. This spring, it certainly feels like time has had his fancy with me. Wasn’t it just the other day that I was on a train to Rome, hoping to catch the cherry blossoms in bloom. Or there was that perfect day reading The Enchanted April under a wisteria-covered pergola at Villa Crawford in Sorrento. And really it couldn’t be months since that early foggy morning standing on the banks of the Platte River listening to the calls of thousands upon thousands of invisible cranes. Didn’t I just fill the house with the honey scent of peach blossoms from the local market? But now, instead, the scent of our neighbor’s jasmine is floating in on the warm—dare I say it—summer breeze.

It has been a spring full of beautiful moments, but full in many other ways too. There has been so much to keep me from sitting down and writing about those moments that I wanted to hold on to. All of this has left me feeling like they’ve gone a little too quickly. Lately I’ve noticed some internal tension, not feeling quite ready for summer even as it was rapidly approaching.

Then, the other day, I read these sweet lines in my Through the Year with Longfellow book:

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.

—H.W. Longfellow, from Maidenhood

I just took a deep breath. Did you? That line “May glides onward into June” feels like an exhale. That is exactly the sort of energy I want to carry into the months ahead. Summer promises to be just as busy, but at least for these final moments of May, let me share a few beautiful memories from spring before we land—gently I hope—into June.

The story of how I ended up looking at cherry blossoms in Rome on a perfect March day goes back a couple of books. I enjoy following the trail of inspiration through books, and sometimes that jumps out from the pages and sends me off on an adventure. So, as the old saying goes about the roads leading to Rome, here’s a little spring story of how two books and a particularly good poem led me to seeing cherry blossoms in the Eternal City.

Last spring, while at Hatchards in London, I saw a little Everyman’s Library pocket-sized book called Poems About Trees. Having just days before fallen for a particularly fetching giant plane tree in Bath, I had to bring the book home with me. (I really can’t ever resist little poetry books …) Over the past year, I’ve dipped in and out of it seasonally, or when a particular tree came to mind.

So, while thinking of a friend’s upcoming trip to Japan, which would hopefully coincide with cherry blossom season, I found myself in need of a good cherry blossom poem. See, one needs little poetry books on hand for exactly these types of situations. It did not disappoint.

Loveliest of Trees
by A. E. Housman

Reading that led to doing a little Housman math for myself, which came up with the disconcerting realization that I’m left with only twenty-five more years. Compared to the fifty more of Housman’s poem, that was was absolutely and without a doubt not enough room for looking at things in bloom. (Not to mention my To Be Read pile.) Don’t worry, I’m not very good at math and I’m certainly planning a great many more years to come! But it doesn’t hurt to have a little spur to go on a spring blossom-inspired getaway, right? And, thanks to another book, I knew just the place.

With “the loveliest of trees” on my mind, when I spotted Naoke Abe’s book ‘Cherry’ Ingram: The Englishman Who Saved Japan’s Blossoms, I knew I had to read it – and then send it on to that friend heading to Japan. It’s wildly fun meeting weird and fascinating people from the past (hello Osbert), and Collingwood Ingram (1880-1981) lived one heck of a century-long life. If you enjoy an unexpected deep dive into a truly unique person, you’ll enjoy reading about Ingram, who was an ornithologist, avid gardener, and one of the world’s experts on Japanese flowering cherries. Highly recommend!

While reading Abe’s book, I learned that Rome has a cherry-blossom tradition going back to 1959, when Japan donated about 2,500 trees that were planted around the Laghetto dell’EUR in the south of the city. You don’t say. Rome is less than two hours by fast train from Salerno, and there was still time to catch the blossoms this year. So, I set to watching the weather, and just at the end of March I saw a few days where it was predicted to be beautiful and hopefully wouldn’t be past peak quite yet.

We did luck out with the perfect blue sky early spring day at the Laghetto dell’EUR for our hanami – the Japanese tradition of admiring the beauty of cherry blossoms. (I love that there’s a word for that.) While I had heard about the EUR neighborhood, I hadn’t been there before. Short for Esposizione Universale Roma, EUR was planned in the 1930s for the 1942 World’s Fair, which never happened because of World War II. With its wide streets and slightly surreal modern-classical style, it hardly feels like you’re only about a 20-minute Metro ride from the Colosseum.

Here’s a glimpse of the cherry blossom walk:

I’m sure there’s more to see in EUR, but on such a beautiful day there was nothing better than admiring the cherry trees. The best way to do that is to walk along the Passeggiata del Giappone, the lakeside path lined with Japanese cherry trees. The lake itself is an artificial one that was completed after the war when the area was developed for the 1960 Rome Olympics. The cherry trees were a big part of that, being gifted to Rome in 1959 by Japanese Prime Minister Nobusuke Kishi as a symbol of friendship between Japan and Italy.

After reading in Abe’s book about the wildly and shockingly varied meanings of cherry blossoms in Japan, I will never not appreciate just how significant that moment was. Each year when the trees blossom, it’s a reminder of that fact that we as people—and nations—have chosen, in moments like that, to move forward in peace. That gives me just a little hope that we will continue to – in the present and future. Even if sometimes that feels as fleeting and delicate as cherry blossoms falling to the ground like snow.

After a good dose of blossom gawking and lunch by the lakeside, we hopped on the Metro back to the center of Rome with no plans. We got off at the Colosseo stop and meandered along the Via dei Fori Imperiali past the Altare della Patria. And then there was Palazzo Bonaparte with signs announcing a special exhibit HOKUSAI Il grande maestro dell’arte giapponese. More Japan in Rome! The last time I had been to a Hokusai exhibit was back in 2006 during my Washington, DC days (where I was already a cherry blossom enthusiast). So, of course, we couldn’t resist a visit to the exhibition, which really was extraordinary.

—Cherry Blossom Festival at Shinagawa c. 1832, Hokusai

Naturally, I gravitated to the blossoms, which showed figures enjoying hanami as well as woodblock prints of pink plum blossoms and snow-white cherry blossoms. There was also a gallery full of waterfall prints that was beautifully done—the entire exhibit was so peaceful—and seeing The Great Wave of Kanagawa in person is always a thrill. The exhibit is on until June 29, 2026, if your travels happen to take you to Rome in the next month.

For springtime blooms, Rome certainly didn’t disappoint. At the end of March there were trees in bloom all over the city – and plenty of wisteria too. Now the question is, where might my reading inspire me to travel to next spring?

—Unbelievable colors in Positano last week.

If I needed a visual reminder that summer is fully here, I sure got it last week in Positano. The bougainvillea peaks a bit earlier there than in Amalfi, but following the pergola-covered walkway up through town was shockingly beautiful. There’s an almost fluorescent pink bougainvillea there that I don’t see so often in Amalfi. Even if you missed your spring blossom viewing for the year, there are always plenty of gorgeous summer blooms ahead.

Those other spring experiences—at the Villa Crawford in Sorrento and seeing the cranes in Nebraska—will have to wait for another day. But as we glide on into June, I hope you’ll find a little room for looking at something beautiful in bloom.