The wind blew all day on Friday after chilly temps on Thursday night, although
we didn't have the predicted frost.
I had errands to do and some cooking, and wasn't inspired to stroll about in the brisk wind with my hair being whipped into my eyes.
Saturday evening came on with the warm glow of sunset casting shadows over the backyard.
The sliding door was open and cats lolled on the steps.
The boy cats with their full outdoor privileges raced about, leaping over each other, pouncing and thumping.
The red buds of the maples are swelling and signs of renewed life are stirring in the flower beds.
Last season's clumps of lemon balm which still showed green in December are dried and brown, but today I found this self-sown lemon balm at the very edge of the herb garden. Its not where I would have planted it, but I think I will honor this hardy volunteer and let it grow in place.
In the back corner of the herb garden is this foxglove which I grew from seed last year.
There were two--the other was dis-interred and trashed by the cats before it was rooted in.
This is rather a dry spot so probably not the happiest site for foxglove--perhaps I will find a better
home for it.
A few of my lavenders are showing life. Several look rather hopeless.
I believe this is one I started from seed.
Another lavender, brown about the edges, but hopeful.
Sadly this is the only bit of thyme showing any life--just a few sprigs on what is otherwise a wiry pile of stems.
Distinctive pebbly leaves of common sage.
My Amish neighbor, Delila, stopped by on Thursday for a spool of quilting thread.
She noticed this sign of life.
Delila helped me create the herb garden in the spring of 2011.
The tri-color sage and purple sage have either not broken dormancy yet--or are as dead as they appear.
In past gardens I have found the common sage to be the most cold-hardy.
The tree lilies are bursting out of the ground.
How big should the 'babies' be to transplant?
Another tree lilies and its offspring.
This is also a great view of the dominant weeds.
A very vigorous clump of catnip flourishing beneath the Double-Red Knock-Out roses.
I picked a sprig and brought it inside to Teasel-cat--her "tea."
It seems that I brushed the plant enough to send the enticing scent of catnip into the air.
This is a zoom shot of Charlie who hurried to enjoy the fresh nip.
Around him is the mat of weeds which invade all my planting areas--a native lamium and something with a very tiny bright blue flower.
I grubbed at patches of this in the perennial strips this week, but the soil was too wet and cold for
I moved the peonies from the strip behind the clothesline.
There should have been 5--I found only 4 and one of those appears stressed beyond recovery.
With each hard rain, the center of that strip is brutally washed. Last summer's torrents cost me several newly planted 'pinks' and my signet marigolds.
There are a half dozen seed-grown yarrows and two Shasta daisies left there--I'm considering whether to move them and let the grass take over.
So much for my thought of flowers to enjoy while pegging out the wash.
Bobby Mac rolling about in the driveway--did he--or did he not--have a whiff of catnip?
Daylilies along the front porch have perked up in the 3 days since I raked off dried leaves and debris.
The ever faithful Willis is a great help in yard clean-up.
The silvery 'kitten's on the goat willow are already taking on the blush of pale gold that presages their advancement to catkin stage.
There will yet be days of chill and rain and wind, but spring is steadily advancing.
This morning I heard the burbling trill of redwing blackbirds; the robins and bluebirds are busy.
Each phase in the unfolding of a season is familiar and yet so very fresh.
I want to throw my arms wide to embrace it all.
I want to shout, "Wait! Don't rush past--I need to savor this for another day!"