I Missed It!

Weather Watcher

I missed it.

Last week, on the day of snow and ice and godawful wind (sorry about that, folks, I’d gotten my snow tires off the day before, so the weather gods decided it was a good time to fuck with me – that’s a technical term, by the way – and you all got caught up in it), the love-struck horsie and, this year, his two companions showed up in our yard, on their way back from visiting his beloved, the donkey down the road. And I was in White River, treating one of my few patients needing acupuncture badly enough to be willing to come in, masked, for a treatment. So – I MISSED IT!!

The wind was high and so were their spirits. The Husband, who was here, said they kicked up their legs and raced about in our-yard-that-was-once-a-field, did some dancing, eventually tore over to the neighbor’s house, while The Husband waited for the local policeman to arrive to keep traffic (not a whole lot of that these days, but some, and people don’t expect to meet other traffic, especially hoofed traffic, wandering freely about the roads) away from the bad boys, and The Husband talked to a crying daughter-of-the-horseys’-mom who was trying to figure out how to get them home once she’d located them. 

Three horses are a handful, and The Husband said that the new one was wicked big, so probably a draft horse of some sort. In the meantime, while all the humans ran about in circles, the bad boys headed up the road towards the dirt road that would take them home: just like they did last year. As much fun as is visiting a paramour and racing around the countryside with the wind blowing in your mane and tail, the bad boys know where their oats are kept.

Scilla, mini jonquils, big jonquils

It’s April, it’s spring, and a young beast’s thoughts turn to love. And what better love, I ask you, than that of a doe-eyed, long-eared, raucus-voiced donkey on a day when the winds are just shrieking with excitement? 

In the meantime, my excitement lately is all about waiting for the state of NH to send me an unemployment check. Three – or is it four? – weeks and still counting. Apparently my treating patients in NH and VT is causing all sorts of official We’re Not Sure How To Handle This blocks, added on top of the self-employment thing. In the meantime, I’m getting poorer and poorer, if you can get poorer than no income coming in but plenty of bills presenting themselves regularly.  When I talked to a nice person at the NH Unemployment place in Concord this weekend when I tried to file my weekly horror story (4^th one I’ve spoken to so far, and they’ve all been really nice, really professional, and really confused about me, personally – I love being special) I offered that at least half the people I treat in my VT office are NH residents who work up that way; but it didn’t help. Apparently NH gov’t people have to talk to VT gov’t people and they’re all over-worked and confused because this particular situation doesn’t fit their slots, so, I’m just keeping my fingers crossed. 

Oh, well. Looks like The Husband’s will come through sooner – we’ll see how that goes. And it will disappear into the maws of big business almost as soon as it arrives.

Someone's new hole amongst the thyme and moss

In the meantime again, I’m spending a lot of time looking out on that empty garden and shouting at the weather gods, because it’s still  too too cold to plant stuff – still below freezing at night, most nights. Yesterday, for the first time, I did notice a couple of barely poking the ground shoots from the onion bulbs I planted, what, two or three weeks ago now? And it looks like maybe maybe maybe just maybe the peas I planted then are starting to break the ground. No sign of the fava beans I planted, nor of most the peas and onions, but it’ll be May in only 4 more days and then, b’god, the pea seeds and lettuce seeds are all going out to get grounded.  And the internet has announced that the leek and onion plants and the shallots that I ordered months ago are now on their way, so once they come there will be more in the ground.

The peepers started peeping about a week ago, but even they are quiet at night – too cold, like I said. With their arrival the wood frogs have quieted – not so many out now, their mating season about over. If I weren’t maniacally averse to risking tick infestation I’d like to scoot down  the bank to see if I can locate their eggs; and I’d also like to scoot out the back 40, through the trees into the sunny area by the marsh to see whether the marsh marigolds are in bloom yet – but even the thought of  encountering ticks just discourages all those desires in me. 

Birdhouse in the shop for repairs

When I was out in yesterday’s garden (60 degrees, warm enough for shirtsleeves), weeding - weeding. Weeding. There’s always more weeding, even when nothing is planted; and marking a few spring perennials I always lose track of; and in my head deciding where I will plant those seeds as soon as it’s warmer, I noticed a few flying bugs. The Tall Man had mentioned that they’re out at his house, which is up a hill and so slightly warmer – and yes, they are here, too. Not biting yet, but it’ll be just a matter of days before that’s changed. 

Oh, yay: corona virus, ticks, and blackflies. What more…?

The Historian, who is also a wicked fine gardener, tells me that he’s not seeing his peas yet, either; but he started some cukes inside this winter that have fruits the size of his “2 thumbs put together,” and tomato plants in bloom. He also starts seedlings for transplanting to the garden. I have no place to do that, so direct-seed most things and buy any seedlings I need that The Tall Guy can’t provide. Years ago I had a table with grow-lights set up in the cellar where I started tomatoes and peppers and so on, but then the cats discovered it and found it an excellent bed and toy table. That was the end of that!

Forsythia blooms just starting

As I look out the window today, I see my forsythia has started to bloom – today. Yesterday I noticed the peach trees have lots of new wood and some very small leaf buds – this new variety I planted last year is supposed to be more frost-resistant than the old northern types, and this year that quality may get tested, if things continue as they have. The maples surrounding the field all have a red tinge to them, another sign of spring. The daffodils in the blueberry patch have also bloomed; they’re always later than the mini-jonquils next to the cement-block raised bed wall near the house. Yesterday I planted out, with them, a mini-iris that I’d gotten from the Co-op’s flower section. Irises are also, mostly, spring flowering, and these had dropped their blooms about a week ago. I hope they don’t freeze, and that they live to flower again next spring.

Mini Irises

The Historian tells me he’s living like a hermit, no one comes into his house except his cat. Mom has a similar complaint, but she and one of her buddies met at a picnic table across the street from her house yesterday, to share lunch. They stayed 6 feet away from each other, but could talk and I think it was fun for them. She said the beach, where the picnic tables are, was full of people – it was a lovely day so not surprising – with some little children freezing their toes off in the water. Mom said she also had a nice chat today for the first time with her younger sister, who lives on the coast. One of Aunty’s kids set up her tablet so she and Mom could have face-to-face chats; my brother had previously set up her tablet so she could talk to her young great-grandchildren. Yay, technology!

So I’m going to run outside now before it starts raining, again, and social-distance with the ticks while attempting to take a few photos for you of my forsythia and the lonely garden.

While I’m gone, I hope I don’t miss anything else exciting. When you stay home, you don’t!

For the blog, 26 April 2020: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com

No new updates. I am shamed to admit, at this point, that I’m almost hoping the stay-at-home orders last past May 15 until the end of the month so I can get my garden planted before going back to treatments full time. Sort of hoping. It won’t hurt my feelings, and will probably prove healthier for us all.

And for god’s sake, don’t try drinking or injecting bleach or Lysol; the smartest man in the world is a total idiot. If anyone wasn’t certain of that before, you should be now.

A jungle of rhododendron buds waiting for warmer days