Imbolc's come and gone. The ground is thick with snow, but there's a slender thread of warmth in the breeze off the sea. It's time to start planning the garden.
Thanks to last year's foibles, there's plenty of garlic in the ground already. The hops will dominate the end of the driveway. Deer have made a feast of my beloved Honeycrisp apple sapling, so we'll have to see if it survives and replace it if it doesn't. I want to put in an herb spiral, a little squash in the back corner of the yard, and more raspberry bushes under the front windows. And...
A much less ambitious plan than last year, or the year before that, I admit. As I've gotten to know my farmers and developed a sense of what's available locally (happily, just about everything) my DIY ardor has cooled significantly. I'm busy writing about food, perserving food, and cooking food. I want to keep one finger in the dirt, but that's about all I can spare. I'm tempted to rip out the whole lawn and replace it with indigenous wildflowers, but I somehow doubt I'll get around to it.
My neighbor's pesticide-treated lawn on the other hand, is crying out for some guerilla gardening. Better sleep with one eye open, Chuck and Judy Tanner!
(I'm kidding. Really. Maybe.)