“The flowers that bloom in the Spring—Tra-La!”…or words to that effect.
At least some of the bulbs and roots that I have planted around here did not fall prey to the squirrels’ depredations during the rather severe—for squirrels, at least—winter we have only lately emerged from. There are blossoms that I don’t recognize from last year and some that do look vaguely familiar. The little dogwood out front is apparently feeling a bit peaked, there’s only one–one—flower showing anywhere. John next door has a goodly showing on a spindly specimen in his front yard; I’m jealous. I have lately gone on another planting binge and have actually remembered to put in the little flags to mark most of them. If the plantings don’t make it, at least we’ll have a nice colorful display of flags. The Red Buckeye is getting ready to justify its name; there are buds out there. The three little Yellow Buckeyes are hanging in there but may be a bit too immature to flower this year. I’m assuming that they will have yellow blossoms , but who knows? There is also a just-plain Buckeye out front that I call the Resurrection Buckeye because it got cut down by mistake and has managed to come back and is looking good. The ferns are awakening; looks like it could be another bumper year. And Jack-in-the-Pulpits! There’s a whole congregation of them in the front, by the steps and out farther; they’re sneaking into beds (Talk about your errant clergy!) all over. Is this normal? Is it ecumenical?
I spent last Saturday afternoon working on the front porch. To say that it is clean would be a flagrant exaggeration and I never deal in such things, but I did remove the heated kitty condos and the much-appreciated heated water bowl. The coons and ‘possums will probably be disappointed but that‘s just tough. There’s a new bed for Bad Mamma Cat and I swept the worst of the drifts of winter accumulation off and out. The inside cats can then sit on the window sill to observe actual happenings out there instead of just wondering if the piles of stuff are going to move. The next logical step is to begin hauling the porch furniture—or at least the cushions–up from downstairs and onto the front and back porches, so that I can embark upon my usual life of leisure during the warmer months. Well, at least more leisurely than back in the day when I spent countless hours marking the softball fields as the temperature climbed and my vocabulary deteriorated in a parallel fashion…all this while imploring the heavens to hold off from raining until after nine o’clock. Those were the days!
The Spring Trash Pick-Up may be declared a local holiday, definitely in my household, but the decisions on what to pitch and what to put back in its own little hidey-hole to be thought about until next year go on nearly until the truck pulls up out front. There should be an official flag, in gray, with dust-bunnies, salute with crossed brooms and mops. Achoo!
