I pulled into the drive last night and found my first tulip had opened. I took a photo, but it’s blurry.
I think you can tell, from what’s goin on around that tulip, what I need to do with my weekend. What WE need to do.
It’s time for spring cleaning in the yard. Pickin up sticks, pullin up blankets of leaves, yankin baby trees out, lil raking, lil sweeping, cleaning off siding. That’s all for now. Too early to plant, too early to sow. Snow and ice may well come again.
This weekend’s weather looks promising so far. It’ll be 50-65 and no rain. I don’t put a lot of faith in the weather predictions staying accurate, but I bet either Saturday or Sunday will be a good day to start.
The list for spring is a little overwhelming, but there are five or six weekends in which to accomplish them.
I’m in charge. (The bossy person who not only does most of it, but tells other people what to do.) Apparently everyone else here would gladly live in a house slick with moss, vines and debris covering the drive, maple trees growing in the gutters, leftover tornado BRANCHES SITTING ON THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE for all of eternity.
After almost a year, The Mister unloaded the tiller from the back of the van and put it in the garage. You know, cause both doors were already open. We’re very proud of him.
While I’m sure he’d like that to be his one garden-related activity for the entire year, this is not the case.
Moo is usually helpful with garden tasks, right up to the point where she tells her sister what to do. For several years, Sassy was excused from some of the nature tasks, bartering her way into bein the house bitch. “Mama, I will dust everything and clean all the floors while y’all work outside. I’ll even do the bathrooms! The ceiling fan! I’ll start dinner!”
I don’t know if she’s come to appreciate nature, if she felt left out, or if she tired of her little sister knowing more than she herself does, but last year, she didn’t give me any grief and humbly admitted, in that teenager-y way, “I sorta like this part,” (planting) “and trimming shrubs isn’t too bad.”
Of course, kids still have to fight while they do outdoor chores. Accidentally on purpose striking one another with large limbs or one closing the gate on the other. They’ll fuss over who goes to the creepy shed or into the garage of spiders. They’ll actually compete for jobs, though, and try to one-up one another with the force of their brooms.
“No, Sassy, not like that, LIKE THIS!”
It is The Mister’s job to close. Once we peons have accomplished a great deal, he will
be dragged from the sofa come out and pull up all the baby trees I can’t. He will act like this kills him. There will be certain trees he has to take a shovel or a saw to, and we must all watch him with reverence. After that, he has to rub his back and make some scrunched faces indicative of his pain and suffering. All the while, he can point-out any undone labor on the part of the children, who by then, hate us both and one another.
Then we’ll sit outside with a beverage, make nice, and watch the grass grow.
Ah, yes, spring. Five or six weekends of that. Depending on the weather.
What’s your spring look like?