I have mulched about two-thirds of the flower beds, but still a lot to do. A bit like painting the Forth Bridge, you get to the end and have to start all over again.
The "upstairs" hostas have unfurled this weekend; beautiful almost-translucent lime-green. Those hostas "downstairs" are still pointy-nosed, held back a little by all the water late in the winter. They look very healthy though, and I'm sure that in a week's time, they will all be open and green. Or, of course, lining Bambi's tummy. (And they only remedy that will work is a six-foot fence, and it's not on the project list. I've tried all the others: soap, my hair, dog hair, rotten-eggs-and-hot-pepper spray... they all work up until the moment that Bambi is really, really hungry.)
The paeonies have thrust their little red fists through the earth, and are pausing for a rest before they grow big. I read "The Apothecaries Daughter" this week, and am now wondering if I should harvest their roots, along with many other of the plants in the garden.
The little magnolia tree is in beautiful flower, the redbud has red buds, the flowering quince is getting ready, and the red wetlands trees have taken on a ruby haze, outshone only by the willows and their flourescent light-green.
The grass has grown long. And the phragmites are taking revenge on being cut; sending spikes out into the middle of the lawn. How dare they?
It's spring. And it's very, very welcome!
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