We started the day gently. Tending to the chickens... (here, they're surely gossiping at the watercooler)
...Breakfast -- all following familiar patterns that belong to all seasons.
Things began to pick up when Ed asked me to come outside and help fold up the netting we'd used (ineffectively) over strawberry plants.
Outside... Not so bad out there... A little cool perhaps, but still, not unpleasant.
I should be putting in some of the early season seeds, but to do this I need to clear overgrown flowerbeds. Mind you, out of my nine vast flower beds, most are tended well enough. But the more distant ones suffer neglect toward the end of the summer. Even now, I see tell tale signs of creeping charlie and mustard garlic.Time to dig all that stuff out.
And so we set to it. It's just 42F (5C), but I no longer am willing to wait for that bright warm day. We have too much to do.
It feels like old times: digging, clawing, heaving, working in soil that in places is moist and rich and in other spots -- solidly frozen. The cheepers follow us around and for once I don't mind their scratching.
We spend only a couple of hours on this, but it feels like we've put in a solid chunk of garden time. Our workload this season is huge. Today, we take our first gardening steps. It feels grand!
In the afternoon, of course, there is Snowdrop.
(Can you please read this one?)
Most of our time together is handed over to pretend play.
She is the leader. We are her cast.
Evening. Quiet time. This is when it really doesn't matter what is happening outside. You can't see it anyway. You think only with pleasure and anticipation about the good, warm days just ahead.
...Breakfast -- all following familiar patterns that belong to all seasons.
Things began to pick up when Ed asked me to come outside and help fold up the netting we'd used (ineffectively) over strawberry plants.
Outside... Not so bad out there... A little cool perhaps, but still, not unpleasant.
I should be putting in some of the early season seeds, but to do this I need to clear overgrown flowerbeds. Mind you, out of my nine vast flower beds, most are tended well enough. But the more distant ones suffer neglect toward the end of the summer. Even now, I see tell tale signs of creeping charlie and mustard garlic.Time to dig all that stuff out.
And so we set to it. It's just 42F (5C), but I no longer am willing to wait for that bright warm day. We have too much to do.
It feels like old times: digging, clawing, heaving, working in soil that in places is moist and rich and in other spots -- solidly frozen. The cheepers follow us around and for once I don't mind their scratching.
We spend only a couple of hours on this, but it feels like we've put in a solid chunk of garden time. Our workload this season is huge. Today, we take our first gardening steps. It feels grand!
In the afternoon, of course, there is Snowdrop.
(Can you please read this one?)
Most of our time together is handed over to pretend play.
She is the leader. We are her cast.
Evening. Quiet time. This is when it really doesn't matter what is happening outside. You can't see it anyway. You think only with pleasure and anticipation about the good, warm days just ahead.
