Conclusive proof of spring

This morning I feel less like it’s spring on the calendar and more like it’s spring in the air.  After a few preliminary cups of drip I wandered outside in my working clothes to find some dirt to get into.  I ended up weeding and trimming back the herb garden, serenaded by the neighborhood’s resident dove pair’s cooing, a woodpecker’s full-auto knocking, and the busy muttering of the chickens, who were very pleased that I shared the weeds with them.

The clothesline is up and the first laundry load of the season is swaying in the breeze.

The weeds are out in full force.  (And the lawn needs a mow pretty badly.)

In the “tea garden” side of the herb garden the spearmint (up close) and lemon balm (washed out in the sunshine) are taking over, as I hoped.

The lone miniature daffodil in the herb bed is back again.

The fruit trees are in bud.

Volunteer muscari are popping up everywhere.

My primroses have doubled in size.

The buttload of pansies I invested in in the fall are all looking great.

I was worried about my rosemary and lavender, which you may remember I cut back and mounded with mulch in hopes of overwintering them.  the lavender is definitely alive but I think the rosemary skunked me again.

After getting good and sore and nice and dirty I retired to the picnic table to gloat and have my mid-morning snack (strawberries and macchinetta coffee) and read A Year in Provence . . .  until the inevitable first lawnmower of the morning, which came late today at 10:15.

Happy spring, everyone!

— Amanda


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