Bloomage

For two days it was too cold, even in the glassed-in deck, for my babies.

This afternoon the air warmed up so I cleared off the kitchen table. Let's hope this cold and snow business is over for the season.

Everett and I spent some time hauling the Adirondack furniture, the plant pots, the hoses, the water barrell, and so on, from one of the sheds out to the garden. I dug up the last half-dozen shasta daisies, which many people call "weeds," from the area they'd been seeded into last year. I know how they spread; that's exactly why I like them. They're tough as hell and their foliage is a deep bushy green. It was a patch of solid daisies between a sidewalk and a tall fence that first turned me onto flowers when I was in my late twenties, and I intend to have a field of them in my own garden too. There are already more than a dozen that were transplanted in the fall so there will be no shortage.

The flower displays at the Co-op store on Friday were a big hit, buzzed around by all the local ladies, who ooh'd and aah'd in small gatherings while the flowers flew off the shelves at high speed. I bought arrangements for Scott's mom and our two grandmothers, and a bouquet for myself in case no one else thinks of me. It's a good thing, too, because Scott is down with strep throat this weekend and neither of my sons asked to be taken shopping. But when I put my bouquet on the table, Everett said, "I'll pay you for those, okay?"