Oh, I cannot contain myself. I am like the wind-chimes, ringing merrily outside the front door, gleaming in spring sunshine.
Spring. Spring.
I got the fevah.
Yesterday I cleared away armfuls of dead foliage and found treasures beneath. I planted little pots of bright, jewel-like primroses and remembered: I love this. This is our first spring in our new home, a place we own and can invest in again. At the rental, I felt as if I were just keeping up, housekeeping; and so I was. Here, I plant a buttery yellow primrose and I think, I'll see this again next spring. It's a completely different sensation, and it makes me want to buy and beg truckloads of flowers.
I must finish editing Maple before the fever takes me completely and I am pulled outside by the sunshine and warming dirt.
If you were to walk by our house today, you'd see fresh beds gashed into our lawn--two big ones at the front, cut in a wave around a vibrant green patch of grass. Trees arrive next weekend and spurred on by our master-gardener brother-in-law Luke, who arrived for two days running armed with shovels and his hard-working son, we kissed our turf goodbye. "Let's dig," Luke said, a big grin on his face. And so we did.
An impressive mountain of turf cuts through our yard--6 ft. long and four ft. high. What to do with all that sod? Luke's son, Josiah, suggested building a paint-ball course, but grown-ups are SO very boring. . .So in the future: a berm, and what else I do not know. For now the children are LOVING climbing the turf ridge, clambering along the top, and into a tree. I wish we could leave it there, but it is a bit of an eyesore and a few days of rain would turn it into a slick, awful mess.
What do I love? The soil. In PA, I'd plunge a shovel and hit rocks and clay. Here, black soil crumbles away from my trowel. I heard such soil was possible, but I hadn't dared to believe it. What else to I love? A vision of hundreds of zinnias and cosmos, bowing in the summer breeze. A tea table in the middle on the lawn, virtually hidden by the street by roses and young trees and towering cottage flowers; our front door, painted red.
Photos to come. I can't manage to figure out how to recharge my camera--I know, so silly, but there it is. Martin will send me some from his phone.
Spring. Spring.
I got the fevah.
Yesterday I cleared away armfuls of dead foliage and found treasures beneath. I planted little pots of bright, jewel-like primroses and remembered: I love this. This is our first spring in our new home, a place we own and can invest in again. At the rental, I felt as if I were just keeping up, housekeeping; and so I was. Here, I plant a buttery yellow primrose and I think, I'll see this again next spring. It's a completely different sensation, and it makes me want to buy and beg truckloads of flowers.
I must finish editing Maple before the fever takes me completely and I am pulled outside by the sunshine and warming dirt.
If you were to walk by our house today, you'd see fresh beds gashed into our lawn--two big ones at the front, cut in a wave around a vibrant green patch of grass. Trees arrive next weekend and spurred on by our master-gardener brother-in-law Luke, who arrived for two days running armed with shovels and his hard-working son, we kissed our turf goodbye. "Let's dig," Luke said, a big grin on his face. And so we did.
An impressive mountain of turf cuts through our yard--6 ft. long and four ft. high. What to do with all that sod? Luke's son, Josiah, suggested building a paint-ball course, but grown-ups are SO very boring. . .So in the future: a berm, and what else I do not know. For now the children are LOVING climbing the turf ridge, clambering along the top, and into a tree. I wish we could leave it there, but it is a bit of an eyesore and a few days of rain would turn it into a slick, awful mess.
What do I love? The soil. In PA, I'd plunge a shovel and hit rocks and clay. Here, black soil crumbles away from my trowel. I heard such soil was possible, but I hadn't dared to believe it. What else to I love? A vision of hundreds of zinnias and cosmos, bowing in the summer breeze. A tea table in the middle on the lawn, virtually hidden by the street by roses and young trees and towering cottage flowers; our front door, painted red.
Photos to come. I can't manage to figure out how to recharge my camera--I know, so silly, but there it is. Martin will send me some from his phone.
Comments
JK! :-)