Last week's robins across the way in Rita's yard.
Bees! Nothing much blooming, of course; but they're out of the hive, exploring. We lost two hives this winter, but there is still one left, and another ordered (I think; bees are John's department). Hope springeth eternal, etc.
Cats throwing up—those that go outside, anyway. They've been out eating grass, and for some reason they can't throw up outside . . . and Victoria has eaten (or at least bitten into) something (a vole, perhaps; Earl got hold of one once and spent three days under the bed, wild-eyed and refusing to eat anything) that has given her nasty diarrhea and thrown her appetite into nonworkingness. She is currently convalescing in a priority mail box on top of the washer. I think it's time to get out the babyfood chicken, and see if I can't get her to eat something. I know she doesn't feel very well, since she doesn't try to bite me when I pet her . . .
Us, madly spreading mulch before too much stuff comes up. One truckload at a time . . .
Birds courting all around: hawks, goldfinches, chickadees and titmice, woodpeckers . . . and turkeys. Although, with the turkeys, it's all on the male side; the girls are busy looking for things to eat (bugs! worms! an occasional bit of green stuff!) and sunning, while the boys are spreading their tails and parading around (Look at me! Am I not the most wonderful turkey ever?) and squabbling with each other.
Me, cutting down the last stems from autumn. I usually leave them until February; I justify this by saying I'm giving the birds a chance to eat all the seeds . . . Now, however, it's time to clean things up. I also pulled up most of the tansy that never blooms (even though it's in full sun; I planted some in a pot until I find a better place for it) and a lot of the oregano that has taken over the front flower bed. That won't stop it, of course, but at least it will have to start from scratch again.
New garden gloves. Two pairs this year, one red and one green. Plus a couple of pairs of heavy gloves for hauling brush, bringing in wood, etc. With this many, surely I can keep track of at least one pair . . .
Chicken lot repair. They've been in the garden over the winter (the ones that haven't figured out how to escape into the yard, that is), but it's time to corral them again. We need to replace the netting on top of the old lot, since there are hawks in the vicinity. Which means, of course . . .
Trips to Lowe's and/or Home Depot, for chicken-lot-repair supplies and stuff to build a small greenhouse (a glorified cold frame, usable in spring and fall/winter, since it's under the edge of the backyard trees). Having tried seed starting in the house for several years and failed miserably, primarily due to cats napping on the seed flats and squashing anything that they didn't eat, we are trying something else this year. And, since we successfully grew greens in plastic tubs (covered with old windows) over the winter, we ought to be able to grow them in a small greenhouse. Then I can grow something else in the space where the tubs were this winter.
Seeds arriving in the mail! Mostly here, other than things like potatoes and shallots and onion sets. This year we are going to keep a garden notebook . . .
Deciding what needs to go. We need to cut down a bunch of trees that are in the way, like the black walnut that has gotten large enough to shade the rhubarb, the locust that came up in the middle of the garlic bed, the damn pawlonias, the sprouts of pine and oak and walnut (thank you, squirrels!), the wild rose that comes up everywhere . . . I can deal with the small ones, but the tree-sized ones will have to be sawn down. Preferably before things begin to come up much.
Things coming up—the roses I set out last year have tiny green leaf budlets. There are daffodils poking up, and blue-eyed grass, and crocuses, and possibly a tulip or two that the voles overlooked somehow. (I am not wasting any more money on tulip bulbs, no matter how much I love them. They are only expensive vole food. And since Jane and Serena are gone, no one catches the blasted things. Darla and Dinah are both hunters, and I will almost certainly let them go outside this summer—if only because it will drive everyone crazy to keep them in while everyone else goes out—so perhaps they can make a dent in the rodent population.) The feverfew is coming out, and the wormwood, and my sole woad plant had managed to remain green all winter, but now the yard chickens have eaten it (fortunately, I have seeds. Hope, etc.).
And soon it will be time to give the chicken houses their spring cleaning, and spread the pile of last fall's chicken bedding out over part of the garden, and so forth and so on . . . For now, though, I'll send John down to get another truckload of mulch while I wash blankets.
(EDIT: Apropos of nothing, why is there no Gorky in the entire Buncombe County library system? How very annoying!)
