thank you, sunny day

The earth seems to have celebrated Vern Coffelt's birthday by giving us all a few days of sunshine.  Thank you, Vern, and thank you, springtime.  Almost overnight the daffodils have doubled their blooms, the plum tree above my car is alive with honeybees as the change in seasons makes itself known.  Even when the rain persists, a certain sweetness is present that wasn't there just a week ago.  Each day I am thankful for the small changes.

Today was sunny and dry enough to cultivate outside and chop in some cover crop that hasn't wanted to die back after repeated flipping and tilling.  For more than a moment it was warm enough to merit working outside in a t-shirt!  Glorious!  Meanwhile, preparing for the fact that SOME day beds will actually dry out enough to plant into, I continue filling my greenhouse with flats of lettuce, kale, broccoli, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, and flowers. I moved my tomato starts from my bedroom to the greenhouse earlier this week when I saw cotyledons unfolding from the seed tray.  Now the flats are fully germinated and look beautiful.  While fantasizing about tomatoes sliced with salt my mouth actually started watering... I need to remind myself there is still a long path to travel between seed germination and edible tomatoes.  Still, a girl can dream.

I covered a bed of onions with reemay after discovering that some critter (birds, most likely) had been plucking the plants from the soil and dropping them down next to where they had been planted.  It feels like they are just teasing me by moving but not eating the crop.  As I stretched out the first length of row cover I noticed that it was surprisingly shredded - upon closer inspection I found a mouse nest and telltale tears along the entire piece.  I guess if I was a mouse the soft, woven white fabric would look pretty enticing to build my den with, too.

Since wind and rain are forecast for the next handful of days, I spent the last few minutes of the day laying down in a mulched greenhouse path, wool shirt padding my head as I closed my eyes to the warm sun.  A necessary thing to commit to memory.