We’re afraid to say it too loudly around here in case the other shoe drops and a snowstorm originally headed for Saskatchewan takes a right and decides it would be fun to visit Massachusetts, but, shh! spring might actually be here.
I celebrated with, what else? - work.
How many affirmations of warmer weather do you see here?
1- open window 2- laundry on the line 3 - blooming forsythia and 4 - finally, no snow
Things are sprouting all over – my vinca’s cheery blue flowers are popping out and should soon be joined by the daffodils that have found their way into this flower bed. Also in this section of theyard is a hefty maple tree, and it generously (in fact too generously) rains down lovely red leaves in the fall. It also sends out a confetti of 6.25 trillion helicoptering seeds when we’re not looking. When they land they burrow in amongst the vinca faster than a paranoid paratrooper behind enemy lines, each one dropping down a tap root freakishly out of proportion to the tiny leaves that finally appear topside.
|Do you see the culprit there in the middle?|
I knew I needed to get these unwelcome invaders out before they got so strong that the only thing to slow them down would be clippers. Today’s gardening was the usual balancing act of finding all the maple shoots and getting them up before my already-unhappy disk rebelled completely.
As I alternately squatted, leaned over double, and sat in the garden looking for the tiny ½ inch tell-tale reddish leaves, I wished for a mercenary six-year-old whom I could pay – what? a nickel? – for every evil little sprout he brought me.