It's beginning, over here. It's a-beginning, as in HERE WE GO, and it's A Beginning, as in HERE WE GO, AGAIN. There's a frenzied feeling starting. The houseplants suffer in precise proportion to the comfort of life outdoors. The delphinium fluff out in the garden. A shed is halfway built. Some rain comes. Tulips are pulled from the ground, spreading unto your eyes this week (get 'em at Superior Merch while you can). Teeny tiny leaves on things, fruit blossoms raining from the sky. Creepy peony nubs like little red ground phalluses. People talking selfies in the petal-rich streets of this dirty little town.
Weddings are off to a running start, and the arrangements I made for this weekend's Halfmoon Market were composed entirely of things grown right here - always a miracle after the long winter, that plants exist at all. The mice found my seedling area just as sunflowers, calendula, scabiosa (which I planted so late) and second sowings of some important things got tucked in their trays. I'm not talking about mice in a greenhouse, where you'd expect them. My seedling operation is in my DINING ROOM, and it's been there for months. But last week, all a-suddenly, our two resident mouse friends realized that SEEDS ARE DELICIOUS. They felt the itch of real spring and found release climbing the shelving, knocking swirly calendula seeds all over the damn place, unearthing precious future plants (future $, let's be real) and slowing my damn pace down.
And what else? Everything. I rented a studio; it's a miracle of space. It's a luxury and a practicality and right now it's a damn mess. I'm out in the garden, again, picking up trash and wondering how to talk to the neighbor about her habit of sweeping dog shit off her balcony and into the borage. Watching grass and lambs' quarter take over the pile of nice garden soil left from last season, like a deep-pile shag. This is the time of year when people want to eat their baby weeds; they are so fresh and clean. But soon we'll be swimming in it, fruit rotting on the vine, sunburns glowing in the dark at the drive-in movies. I can't wait.
Hey: If you want to help in the Flower Scout garden this year, sign up for the mailing list. I'll send out some garden hang-out invites soon. I say "hang-out," but I mean "break your back a little + drink lemonade." Sign up right down there.