Sunday morning. The sun breaks through at intervals in an otherwise dramatic blue/gray sky. The TWO (2!) raised beds in my backyard will challenge my skills with the electric lawnmower, a tool that works well and that I push around faithfully yelling, “I hate this! I hate this! I hate this.”
The Olde Farmerse Almanacke says I should put out my tomato plants next month. Next MONTH??? Around my grandmother’s birthday, June 16. I haven’t told the little things. They’ve been hoping for real dirt for a long time now. But there is (a slight chance of) snow in the forecast and while that’s good news for me and Polar Bear Yeti T. Dog, it might been too exposed for two inch tomato plants.
The raised bed in which they will live — and hopefully thrive — has some of my homegrown compost in it, the middle layer between two bags of soil. I actually emptied the soil out of the bags, so it’s not literally two bags of soil, it’s jut soil. I hope my tomatoes like it. I was happy when the compost bin finally thawed out and so were the fruit fly larvae.
In other news, on a walk with the dogs yesterday, I saw how spring is finally arriving to the wild parts of my valley. It’s always accelerated where the people live and water and plant and all those thing, but out by the river, it has looked like winter, until yesterday. I noticed spring’s tender, resolute soft green. A currant bush is blooming, a behemoth moth was feasting, and the wind — though from circling storm — caressed my cheeks more than it stabbed at my face. I watched a circling red tail and later an osprey diving into the river. Red wing blackbirds screeched and sang. Summer will come and Polar Bear Yeti T. Dog and I will have to make the best of it.
Strangest of all, it appears that God was in his Heaven and all was right with the world. I was surprised to see that God looks a lot like Kris Kristofferson.