The dogs are doing more gardening than I am these days. Only this time, the dirt on their faces isn't from burying bones under tomato plants or lilies but from inspecting the holes put in the lawn by skunks digging for grubs. Abby shoves her nose into the hole then digs into it. Stella jogs over to inspect because you never know: that silly puppy might have unearthed something to eat.
We're all about snacks in this family although I think we all draw the line at grubs.
This wet weather is worrying. What if I can't get any bulbs planted? What's spring without daffodils? How will I know it is spring if there aren't any daffodils?!
I have no hope that the nippy north wind is going to dry any of the gardens up enough for planting bulbs and the forecast isn't promising. But it's sunny and we're off to Masstown Market where I'm going to carry on the tradition of hope and optimism that every gardener must possess in order to stay sane and that means buying a great big bunch of bulbs. I won't give up on planting until there's six feet of snow on the ground.