Spring has sprung and I could not be more obsessed.

I cannot count the number of times I’ve checked to see if new seedlings have sprouted.  Or how many weeds I’ve pulled (where do they come from?!?)  I’m determined to have a better crop than last year and I’ll do [almost] whatever it takes to make that happen.

I do get distracted though.  I’ve let seedlings die from lack of water from time to time, and I may have planted seeds too close together in an effort to get everything into the ground before June.  I’m not perfect.

Yesterday I noticed that my peas were starting to collapse onto my carrots.  But it’s okay; nature is forgiving.  Carrots are survivors and a full day of sunshine always perks them right up.  I like that about carrots.

The parsley, dill, cilantro, and basil are an inch or two tall.  The sage, tarragon, and scallions should sprout by next week.  The lettuce seeds that started outside never appeared but the seedlings started inside back in February are making a go of it despite the downpouring rain.  The strawberries are a new addition and bound to be popular with little H, and the nasturtium with their broad flat lily pad-like leaves are reaching toward the sky.  The rhubarb roots need planting if I can just decide on the perfect spot for them while last year’s raspberries are coming up in full force.  The blueberry bush is lush and leafy, the perennial herb garden in full bloom.  Our yard has turned from a weed-filled, tire rut streaked, broken glass strewn nightmare to a bountiful oasis of delectable produce.

There is little in life more satisfying than gardening.  It nourishes my soul.  It grounds and grows me.  It makes me feel like part of a larger whole, a provider, a self-sustainer, an independent.  To share these gifts with my little H and my big R is rewarding beyond compare.