Many of the early flowers of spring have faded, but summer holds the promise of many more blooms to come.

I’m not much of a gardener, but I relish the first buds and blossoms of spring that nature puts forth.

Those first glimpses of red buds emerging on the trees, followed by fresh greens and the white patches of dogwood in area forests and backyards, make me happy.

Winter is over — almost.

Soon pops of other colors start. First comes the yellow with forsythia and then the pinks and purples of cherry blossoms, red buds, magnolias and azaleas — some of which blaze red.

It’s a wonderful show.

I didn’t forget about the rhododendrons, whose large purple and pink blooms come in late spring into early summer. I’ve also seen yellow, orange and white among older landscaped yards.

I make it a point to drive by homes with beautiful displays of spring color, but I really love when these flowering trees and bushes are left to nature and grow wild.

I’ve been driving by one such rhododendron bush for decades, just off Seybert Street in Hazleton.

This giant mound of rhododendron dominates the city lots, where it has been growing wild for as long as I remember, and dwarfs nearby houses.

It’s quite the sight when in full bloom. The purple flowers pop against its dark evergreen leaves and a sweeping expanse of grass, a towering green-leafed tree and smaller red maple.

A few years ago, I learned the rhododendron was planted in 1943 by a boy whose mother set him about the task.

The boy grew up and left the area, only to return in 2017 to revisit the spectacular sight that the small bush grew to become.

I remember a co-worker telling me that a neighbor came out to talk to the man, who was being photographed in front of the behemoth.

After learning the story of how the man planted the tree as a boy, the neighbor went back into his home, returning with a machete in hand.

My co-worker was instantly alarmed, as machetes had become a popular weapon in the area due to how inexpensive and available they were.

But the neighbor walked up to the man before the bush and lopped off a cutting. He told the man to take it his home in Delaware and plant it — just as his mother told him to 82 years earlier.

I don’t know if the man ever did plant that cutting — or if that cutting took root to bring a piece of his childhood memories to his new home.

I’d like to think that he did.

And it’s growing as wild as the one in Hazleton today, and bringing him and his family the simple joy of spring.