Every year I think I've mythed Spring Fever, then about this time I start feeling like the air is lighter and easier to breathe, and the garden has a siren voice all of its own. Calling me to put in the things that I really love to grow; clear, scrape, dig, pat, even weed.
Planted some apple seeds from supermarket apples last month. Forgot to water them. Tipped them out and they'd started shooting, then shrivelled. Felt like a murderer.
I have done a bunch of little things like tidied up the garden beds a little and started putting summery things into pots. Back yard needs cleaning up bigtime.
Love our chookens - I've been throwing them slugs and bugs and earwigs. They even ate a spider, though I didn't mean for them to do that. They get very excited over wriggling things and jostle for the first one they see, ignoring the others that are escaping into the grass. Have started to throw things one at a time. Hehe.
Work has been weird; too many deaths in a short time. Need to get out with my hands in some live soil and plant growing things. Nothing like a garden to perfectly complement palliative care. (Except when I forget to look after apple seedlings.)
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