In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. Margaret Atwood
It was one of those picture-perfect spring days,
and all I wanted to do was get outside and be part of it.
Kneel in the dirt, and get my hands dirty.
Fill up the wheelbarrow with weeds.
Prune back the ferns and peonies.
Make room for this year's growth.
The big perennial border doesn't quite know
what to do now that the huge fir tree is gone,
and the ground is flooded with light.
Shade-loving plants like ferns and Hellebores
have doubled in size, seemingly happy with more light.
The forget-me-nots that last year provided a thick
carpet of blue, have all but disappeared.
My winter-hardy rosemary made it through winter
then promptly died as soon as the warm days arrived.
Just two years ago, I would have stressed about
finishing this flowerbed in a single weekend,
working through aches and pains in the single-minded
need to get it done. No longer. I take things in small
chunks, with more care, and with stops to take photographs
and imagine what plants would go best in the empty places.
So I stopped after three hours of weeding and digging
and pruning. And the next warm day, I'll finish it up.