This morning, stepping out of church my youngest son announced it smelled, “earthy”.    He was right, the bit of drizzle that we enjoyed overnight, had worked it’s way into the dirt, and left spring wafting up.  Oh, if I could bottle that smell, “Eau de Printemps”, I would call it!  It would smell like dirt, and grass, and rain.

The garden is calling me.   Fall had rushed into winter too quickly, and I left for tomorrow what should have been done that day.  There is much work to be done to get ready for a new season, beds to clean up, earth to till, blisters not yet known.

In the summer, the deck off the kitchen is flanked on all sides with window boxes filled with fresh herbs.   We are spoiled to be able to just step outside and with a quick, “snip”, bring that freshness into whatever meal is on the menu.   We overwinter some of the boxes by letting them go dormant in the garage.   I was surprised to find the chives and the sage waking up yesterday.  We brought them outside for the day to help them to get used to the light, and the sun, and the fresh air again.

Other deadlines loom for me, leaving me mostly inside today.  I’ll get my seeds started, but then will need to turn my thoughts to other more pressing things.   Balance it a tricky thing, tearing you between what you want, and what you want.  There is always next weekend.


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