It’s dirty work, but the manure – and granddaughter – gives spring a helping hand
I rushed the rehab. Regretting it now. It was the enforced helplessness I was fighting. Snowdrops are out. Crocuses, too. Jeffrey’s daylilies are a half a foot tall. His daffodils are in flower. Spring’s call is insistent. My exile is over.
Baby steps were needed. The first couple of times I just sat and stood at the plot, soaking it all up. The third, I took out the hoe. A little light strimming of the bittercress and tufted grass. Fifteen minutes or so, resting in between. The next day I lifted the tired chard. It felt healing to connect with the land in a more intimate way. To be more useful.
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