It has been several weeks since I've had a morning without appointments, obligations, or preparations, Now mind you, those busy mornings were often wonderful mornings. But it did so happen that they were mostly very full mornings.
Today I had absolutely nothing on my calendar.
It comes at a good time: my gardening agenda remains full. Weeding, prepping, planting, transplanting. It's a daily effort. For a whole month, every empty hour with decent weather will be handed over to the farmette flower fields and all that grows around them.
In the thick of summer, garden work wears on you. The bugs, the heat, the spent flowers that aren't always as robust as you'd like them to be (what did I do wrong, oh lovely lily??) - you're ready to throw down the shovel, move onto the porch and sip cool drinks for the rest of the season. But now, at the end of April and well into May, it's downright exhilarating to be outside. I look out and I am amazed!
How can the landscape have transformed itself so radically, so quickly?
One week ago, you had to look down, low to the ground to spot anything that was not brown, gray or some combination of the two. Today, our farmette looks positively splendid! (Or is it just me?)
But it is a cool morning. We eat breakfast in the kitchen.
What, from my long list, should I hope to accomplish today? The flower pots: I want to fill most of them. This requires another quick trip to Kopke's Greenhouse, where I spend an hour mostly looking and scheming as to what to put where and with which other plant.
Then I get to work. (Jacket watches.)
It is true that I am taking a small risk: a deep frost would be a killer for all these flowers. I would have to carry every pot inside and my pots can't be lifted anymore -- they'd fall apart. A light frost would also do some small amount of damage. Still, I'm feeling fairly confident. Saturday night will dip into the mid 30sF (just above freezing). Some of these guys won't like it, but they'll survive. After that, it looks like we'll be okay. (I have always planted pots at the end of April and have never lost a flower to the fickle spring weather -- even last year, when we had that horrible frost in May)
It's good to take a pause in the afternoon. Gardening is work filled with hope and love for the enterprise. It needs an occasional rest so that you can process what you've done and reconsider what the next step should be.
My pause comes, of course, because of my time with Snowdrop. And it is a sweet, lovely time!
Can you smell the alyssum? It's like honey!
The listen?
No, alyssum!
A listen?
Oh the twists and turns of language!
Inside, we read, I shave Ed's beard, she pretends to paint his hair purple. Regular stuff.
Outside -- equally happy routines. Water play!
Story time!
Touch the baskets time.
This last -- "touch the baskets" -- has become one of my favorites. It's athletic, joyful, full of enthusiasm for the bounty of this incredibly generous season.
In the evening, sandhill cranes come calling. Spring is here! Spring is here! The say the obvious, but it bears repeating -- spring is here!
Today I had absolutely nothing on my calendar.
It comes at a good time: my gardening agenda remains full. Weeding, prepping, planting, transplanting. It's a daily effort. For a whole month, every empty hour with decent weather will be handed over to the farmette flower fields and all that grows around them.
In the thick of summer, garden work wears on you. The bugs, the heat, the spent flowers that aren't always as robust as you'd like them to be (what did I do wrong, oh lovely lily??) - you're ready to throw down the shovel, move onto the porch and sip cool drinks for the rest of the season. But now, at the end of April and well into May, it's downright exhilarating to be outside. I look out and I am amazed!
How can the landscape have transformed itself so radically, so quickly?
One week ago, you had to look down, low to the ground to spot anything that was not brown, gray or some combination of the two. Today, our farmette looks positively splendid! (Or is it just me?)
But it is a cool morning. We eat breakfast in the kitchen.
What, from my long list, should I hope to accomplish today? The flower pots: I want to fill most of them. This requires another quick trip to Kopke's Greenhouse, where I spend an hour mostly looking and scheming as to what to put where and with which other plant.
Then I get to work. (Jacket watches.)
It is true that I am taking a small risk: a deep frost would be a killer for all these flowers. I would have to carry every pot inside and my pots can't be lifted anymore -- they'd fall apart. A light frost would also do some small amount of damage. Still, I'm feeling fairly confident. Saturday night will dip into the mid 30sF (just above freezing). Some of these guys won't like it, but they'll survive. After that, it looks like we'll be okay. (I have always planted pots at the end of April and have never lost a flower to the fickle spring weather -- even last year, when we had that horrible frost in May)
It's good to take a pause in the afternoon. Gardening is work filled with hope and love for the enterprise. It needs an occasional rest so that you can process what you've done and reconsider what the next step should be.
My pause comes, of course, because of my time with Snowdrop. And it is a sweet, lovely time!
Can you smell the alyssum? It's like honey!
The listen?
No, alyssum!
A listen?
Oh the twists and turns of language!
Inside, we read, I shave Ed's beard, she pretends to paint his hair purple. Regular stuff.
Outside -- equally happy routines. Water play!
Story time!
Touch the baskets time.
This last -- "touch the baskets" -- has become one of my favorites. It's athletic, joyful, full of enthusiasm for the bounty of this incredibly generous season.
In the evening, sandhill cranes come calling. Spring is here! Spring is here! The say the obvious, but it bears repeating -- spring is here!
