I love this time of year. I get to plant things in the garden, the flowers are all blooming, and best of all, my 35,000-person town has suddenly shrunk by 40,000 people! It’s possible to get into restaurants, the roads aren’t so crowded, there are hardly any pedestrians on campus. Wonderful!
The down-side of spring is that I’m struck hard by what I’ve just learned to call the chutney fantasy. Nothing to do with being 40: I’ve had this malady for a very long time. I drove past this lovely piece of real estate last week on my way back from Virginia. Wouldn’t it make a fabulous weaving studio/retreat destination? And it’s really quite affordable, as these things go.
No, I’m not going to run away from home and buy a colonial stone house and set up a pricy weaving retreat location. But I’ll think about it pretty hard!
Here at home I have tulips. (New macro lens: look at the enormous version! Makes a good desktop background.)
And Grendels.
Though I suppose he could come too.
I planted strawberries and rhubarb last spring, expanding the Worlds’ Smallest Pea Patch to make room. Then we suffered through a hot and dry summer, and the rhubarb turned crunchy and brown. I mourned its passing.
It’s back! I have zombie rhubarb!
Apparently even first-year rhubarb is drought tolerant enough that crunchy and brown is not synonymous with dead. This makes me very happy.
Another pleasing thing: String Notes celebrates its fourth birthday this month!
