Low EarthIt is gently becoming spring again. The warmth of the sun is tugging at the ground and air, and the plants are again beginning the greening march to summer. I am still hesitant about it, but the plants seem sure. The birds seem sure. I can feel spring in the dirt underfoot, but it is not enough to make me similar.
This does not keep the work at bay. The bits and pieces of the northern garden bed have been shuffled around, the wine barrel bits and the small terra cotta have moved to new places. Some of the plants, too: the chives now have a new home, and some of the bulbs have been relocated. I'll have to see how that goes. In exchange, I now have a wide and solid space, with two more in the raised beds to the south. If all goes well, come the weekend I will have loan of a tiller, and I can send the leaf mold from last autumn deep into the soil.
This year, things will be kept simple, I think. Herbs and nightshades, mostly, with some berries in the shade of the locust. There is plenty to do, even so: feverfew is assaulting one of the front plots in a duel with the strawberries, and the spectre of crab grass is climbing out of the soil in parts of the lawn.
The hammock swings in the cool air, but the air promises to be warmer, soon. And if it turns out I can't borrow the tiller, I've a pitchfork and time.
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