It’s 61 degrees outside and drizzly. The trees are in fairly full leaf, that impossible to paint very green, too much yellow color. Mourning doves nest under the back porch. A cardinal couple flit around the house. Goldfinches dart to and from our neighbor’s thistle feeder. Robin males sing their love-struck hearts out.
Dirt comes alive with creatures, smelling like the dirt of childhood, and pollen dusts everything yellow.
The annual batch of dandelion wine bubbles lazily on the counter, along with an exotic experiment, violet wine. The dandy is solid, slightly sweet, herbal stuff, in a wonderful bright yellow. A country bumpkin brew. The violet is a fragile, heady, sweet wine, with a pinky amber tint. An ancient drink of Caesars.
Our garden is in, and properly fenced. Beans pop through the soft earth. Tomato plants dig in and reach up. Potatoes unfurl their dark green leaves. Narry a glimmer of carrots or spinach, and the basil stands limply. But we’ll see. With a black thumb, any positive result is a gift.
A ring necked rabbit longs for her way in, as she nibbles yard greenery. I talk to her every morning, touting the nutritional advantages of dandelion leaves. No dice. It’s like suggesting Attila the Hun show mercy. The markings nail her as a fifth generation descendant of the carrot and bean desecrator, Bunzilla. Cute, but sneaky. Very, very sneaky.
Other new beginnings. Our first born graduated college this week and hopes to plunge into the real world. A job. A car. Jazz drum lessons. A new kit. Surprise! You’re off the dole kiddo, onto responsibility, time to pitch into the household. The younger one dabbles with the idea of summer work now that he's 15, but hasn’t moved an inch. If he doesn’t get cracking, we know people who’d be more than happy to hire him for yard work. Besides keeping him flush, manual labor is a perfect remedy to “I’m bored.”
Everything indicates spring has arrived in the mid-state. What about your neck of the woods?