It's been warm! We've had a good handful of days now when it's warm enough for bare baby skin and trike riding (that's a butterfly mask that Indy got at her cousin's superhero birthday party, by the way), and I've been able to get out in the yard to clean things up and prepare the raised beds. I have one bed all clear of weeds and loosened up and planted with sugar snap peas (by the trellis), spinach and carrots. You can very faintly see the garlic shoots in the far end of the bed. Already I can tell the squirrels are going to give me a run for my money. Daily I am throwing on my shoes and running out into the yard yelling like a madwoman because they will not stop digging up the sprouting peas! Come on! I ordered fox pee. I'm serious. I did.

Porch days have begun again. The prospect of sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, steaming cup of coffee in hand with that cool camping morning air pushing through the screens draws me out of bed and down the stairs in the morning. It's irresistible. It's much harder to get up on the cold and grey mornings. Today it is snowing, so I slept in until Tenny woke up and I'm writing this post in the office instead of digging in the dirt. I also received a rejection letter for a poetry submission and realized I somehow mixed up the dates (and subsequently missed) an event for a friend that was this past weekend, so it's kind of one of those occasional groaning, forehead rubbing days. I'll recover, just give me a moment. And a margarita. And another 70 degree day, maybe. There, see? I ate an ice cream bar and I'm already feeling better. Now I just need that fox pee to come in the mail and I'll be golden.

(More lemonade, this time with fresh mint. Late night bath time, with a little brother who thinks splashing is hilarious. After-dinner smoothies, a can of full fat coconut milk with frozen tropical fruit. Seedlings under the grow lights, peppers and tomatoes pictured.)

Even though it's only 45 degrees out there right now, make no mistake about it: spring is nudging its way in. If I squint hard I can see the buds on the neighbors' trees just beginning to show the faintest whisper of green, and I can hear the birds (thank goodness they go by the hours of daylight and NOT the temperature) chirping faintly through the window. Monday was in the mid-sixties. Alan cleaned the porch, the cousins came over and played in the yard, and I raked the leaves out of one of the raised bed in preparation for some of the early seeds. I uncovered the garlic that Indy and I planted in the fall, and when I crouched down to check on it (it has, indeed, sent up beautiful green shoots!), the uncovered soil was teaming with thousands of new worms. The sight made me gasp and nearly brought me to tears. All winter long, stuck inside, and feeling so lifeless. Even looking outside you see only monotone shades of brown and grey. Yet there in the soil, so small that you have to lean close enough to smell the sharp notes of rotting leaves, there is life! (If it wasn't lent I would have let out a hallelujah!) It is undeniably gracious and good.