Signs of Life

So we've had our first week of warm weather-- warm meaning the sweater people still wear sweaters but people like me wear shorts and no shoes and don't mind the chilly-ish breeze that still blows by. The lake is still covered with white, but it's more slush than ice or snow.


So I went outside today with full intentions to get in my car and drive, but I was distracted by that rectangle in my backyard. It's a lasagna garden, which means that I don't technically have to rototill it-- just add more layers of compost and mulch and manure and peat moss-- but there is something so very satisfying about prying up shovelfuls of sod and turning them over-- so I did.
For two hours. I am insane.


There is a tiny little once-upon-a-time garden by my driveway, where all that is left are those daffodils that I took pictures of in my last post. I've long meant to dig them up and replenish the soil around them (the soil is mostly rocks and clay and is nearly taken over by grass) so today I dug them up and plopped them in the garden proper. They were so incredibly choked with grass roots and weeds and tangled bits of whatever. I shook the bulbs free and pulled the nooses from around their stems and snuggled them into their new home in the healthy-looking soil. You could almost hear the daffodils sigh in relief, stretching out their roots and shaking their leaves free.


I don't pretend to know anything about plants, and mostly I just go by intuition when I'm out there mucking about in the dirt. I was reminded today of "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett:

She did not know anything about gardening, but the grass seemed so thick in some of the places where the green points were pushing their way through that she thought they did not seem to have room to grow. She searched about until she found a rather sharp piece of wood and knelt down and dug and weeded out the weeds and grass until she made nice clear places around them.

"Now they look as if they could breathe," she said.