We can’t stay inside.
The crocuses are gone, and the daffodils are just barely past their peak. The grape hyacinths are up, and lots of our neighbors seem to have gone in for the breathtaking pairing of these sweet blue fairy-bulbs and the sunny, amiable daffies. The combination is the epitome of cheerfulness, and I can’t get enough of it.
Last winter’s pansies have returned to wave like brilliant orange and blue flags in the April breezes, enlivening the sparse brown flowerbeds where the perennials are just beginning to shake themselves awake. I always love to see the re-emergence of my yarrow, for its feathery, gray-green foliage is exactly the color of spring according to my Secret Garden-trained sensibilities.
And our strawberries! We were astonished yesterday to see that they are already blooming. Dozens and dozens of the delicate white blossoms embroidered with yellow-green, like something off an old-fashioned sampler. We’ll be feasting by early June, for sure.
I am pointedly overlooking all the weeds. I cannot possibly uproot them now—as it is, I seem to be giving the neighbors panic attacks when they see me out in the mulch hacking down last year’s dead flowerstalks. No, I assure them, I am not trying to jumpstart labor; it’s just that if I don’t do it now, it won’t get done, right? I may be a baby-sling enthusiast, but tackling early spring garden cleanup tasks while toting a brand-new newborn—that’s a bit beyond me. So the gang and I got out there yesterday and chopped out all the brush. Now we can relax and enjoy watching the
plantain and thistle columbines and shasta daisies emerge.
No trace yet of the milkweed Jane is raising to lure her monarchs. And we still haven’t planted our peas!
Booknotes: The Dangerous World of Butterflies
Bet you didn’t know peanuts could fly
The Definition of Shudder
From the Morning’s Reading: Hoppers