Of Backs and Badness

I've been quiet for a few days, I know, which has prompted a concerned comment or two in case I had managed to poison the whole clan with roadkill venison; not the case, let me assure you. No, what's been keeping me quiet is one simple thing. You call it spring. I have a few other names for it, largely due to the sudden increase in garden work that it requires.

One year soon I'm going to be on top of all my winter jobs before Ole Man Spring comes knocking. The strangler vine will be clipped and tied; the strawberries will all be snug in their beds; there will be no new beds to dig; no fences to make; no last-minute mulching to do.

S'yeah, right.

At any rate, the last couple of days have been taken up with a most impressive bout of backache, brought on by the hazardous task of putting a teabag in the compost caddy. It's funny how it's often the little things that catch you - a friend of mine dislocated his kneecap closing some curtains (Dislocated! Kneecap! I mean, Jesus!) . Of course the real problem wasn't the teabag at all, it was the hours I spent handweeding the asparagus bed on a cold and windy Tuesday, because I carelessly let it get away. Big mistake. So teabag? Ouchie. Still, at least I get a warm glow from knowing that the asparagus bed is now snug under four inches of compost. Or maybe it's the wintergreen, who knows.

It's going to get warmer this week, according to my home-made thaumaturgic weather station, so it's seeds a-gogo tomorrow. No doubt something will come along to keep me from them. Over the last few weeks there have been family emergencies, maladies, Publisher Panics and dead animals. I wonder what's coming next?