It’s too cool not to wear a jacket but if I work too hard, it gets too warm. My  dark glasses are on again, off again in the intermittent sunshine, and the winds are so strong they’re tossing the tree branches from side to side like they’re saplings. The birds are quiet. Maybe they’re hiding out from an oncoming storm. It’s possible we’ll have more snow. 

The chives and mint that had been over-running their borders have all disappeared. I’ve learned my lesson though – from now on, I plant them in pots on the deck. Easy to reach and easy to control. The mortality rate is about the same as in the garden beds, but I don’t have to bend and curse to keep them under control.


My garden chores are late this year, in part because I keep finding so many tasks inside to do and partly because the weather hasn’t been all that great. For years, I’ve been complaining about the heavy lifting and hours spent outside during inclement weather, trying to coax the lawn to grow and smother the swaths of creeping Charlie and dandelions. No more! We now have a gardener, Eugene, who owns the shop where we get our tractor serviced every spring. He has definite ideas about how he’s going to conquer our wayward gardens and I’m so grateful I don’t have to do the field work anymore, I’ll agree to whatever he suggests. Plus, I get to buy new plants and shrubs!

Being outdoors always reminds me of my Dad.  He was such a farmer, happiest when he was ‘mucking about’ as he called it. I’m convinced he could grow plants from seeds of stone. He’d be aghast at how unruly the raspberry patch is – I’ve given up trying to protect the canes with chicken wire and fencing to keep the rabbits out. I had a good crop last year but it was a fight to harvest undamaged fruit because the squirrels and birds would get there first. And my fruit trees are unpruned. My excuse – it’s still too cold. For me at least.

Thinking about my dad makes me think about how I’m getting older and damn, I have to update my will and make sure to leave a legacy that has no tangles. 

I stand at the open patio door and take in lungfuls of spring air. Maybe tomorrow I’ll clip a few more dead branches, or rip out another patch of stinking weeds. Today, I’m going to try my hand at baking a decent sourdough loaf that isn’t heavy as a brick. It’s a beautiful day still.