Happy Days are Here Again

A week ago, it was too cold to be outside more than the several times daily that  I had to be out to take water to the chickens and do other chores.

For the last two days, I have been outside in shirtsleeves, digging in the dirt. Such are our instant weather changes in the Midwest.

This flower bed along the cattle fence has my best soil, worthy of my devotion on my knees. Since the dirt was once worked with the tiller, it is friable and can be worked early. Because it is surrounded by invading grasses, I must do plenty of weeding. The grass roots sneak in at some depth and appear here and there as harmless little sprouts of cute grass. Then they change almost overnight into big nasty clumps, making me consider using explosives to dislodge them.

There are lots of perennials and bulbs in this bed, so I have to work the soil by hand. I believe the worms appreciate the loosening and hand-mixing of the dirt. It's so hard to tell if they are smiling; maybe I'm looking at the wrong end.

It's not apparent, but I dug up a huge clump of grass-choked irises, got rid of the grasses and replanted four nice sections of iris. The steppingstones, pressed into service all winter to hold down the tarp over the wood pile, had to all be re-set, not the work of an instant.

Other ground, only recently freed of snow, remains muddy and sullen.

One of my favorite sounds of early spring is the Peepers. They started their little froggy croaking right after the ice left the pond.

Many songbirds have started to sing and are spiffing up, gradually getting into their breeding plumage. A pair of bluebirds has moved into the birdhouse in the garden.

Weeks ago, I cleaned out the three birdhouses. Looks like I forgot that chore last spring, because I found this inside. Trying to be a better landlord, I cleaned out this double-decker nest for the bluebirds.

This is the happiest time of the year for me. My daughter Isabelle said I'm like a kid in a candy store.