April

 

 

               The world has been warm and sunny for the past two weeks—lovely, but it just does not feel right, in Oregon, in April. This weekend, the clouds returned, rain softened the clods of dirt in my summer greens garden bed just before I needed to prep it for planting, and the sky is full of layers and layers of cloud with sun shining through the gaps. Despite the swelling slugs in the grass, it is beautiful.

                The greenhouse is full. There are some extra early cabbage starts in four inch pots from my first round of planting. The tomatoes have all been bumped up. Eighty six are waiting to go to new homes this coming weekend; 18 sit in gallon pots underneath the shelf, ready to be planted out in about three weeks, when the coop moves to the back run. The third round of plantings, known as the summer greens, is in six packs and four inch pots, resting over the tub. And today, I planted the vines, flowers, and herbs that will go out when it is truly warm in late May. After I start the corn tomorrow, every spot will be filled. The cat wanders in as I work, waiting to be boosted up to her shelf over the door, where she hangs a paw down while she naps.

  

              Outside, lilac and wisteria waft a deep purple fragrance over the back yard. Wild hyacinth and white alliums sprawl out of the beds onto the sidewalk. The early greens are ready for small soft salads. I mulched the potato bed this afternoon and Mr. Beezhold hopped right over to nibble on the dry grass, which is better than the rhubarb or the asparagus. The chickens are laying an egg most days and they have given in and are using the official nest box, rather than scrambling to get out or laying in the furthest corner of the run.  The fig tree has thumb sized figs forming at the base of the new leaves. Mark has to mow every five or six days to keep up; the push mower does not work well when the grass is too high.

                Late April is full of hope in the garden. Everything is started and growing. Nothing has been attacked by slugs, or flea beetles, or a chicken on a rampage…there are no failures or mistakes yet, no lessons learned the hard way. Soft rains help the cabbages grow and the warm sun pulls us all outside.

Post Pandemic School clothes?

     

When the pandemic began and I realized that no one would be able to see me in any great detail, I sorted out my school clothes from my just plain old clothes and put the decent ones away. Given my tendency to wander into the back yard to check on the broccoli—a very common activity in April—and then falling to my knees to trim out a bed and becoming covered in dirt and grass stains, then retreating to cook dinner and splashing olive oil on my shirt, it seemed prudent.  I am very hard on my clothes. I was also interested in seeing just how long seven pairs of old socks and three pairs of very old jeans would last, after being used every day.

The socks have worn out. There is a great deal of wear left in a sock once the comfy cushion has been washed away, but, finally, real holes appeared. Last month, I pulled down my sock bag and greeted a few “new” pairs for the drawer. It was nice to see old friends. My tee shirts are still sticking around, unchanged. My jeans are almost dead,  with very thin places in the seat, but comfortable.

As school opens up again, this is creating a problem. For the last year, I have been rolling out of bed, pulling on my old pants and a long sleeved shirt, and heading off into the day, comfy and covered, if not stylish and pristine. On Spartan Garden days in the fall, I wore my very baggy, poorly hemmed garden pants to school and no one knew. My shoes were muddy and battered. My jeans were patched. No one cared. I am spoiled.

Last week, I peered into my closet. There was my collection of skirts that I have added onto for many years. The black skirt from my second year of teaching….the swirling orange skirt that I bought to take to a Shakespeare workshop in Ashland…the short flowered one I found on Hawthorne for 21 dollars in September… old friends? I sighed. I don’t want to renew my acquaintance with them. When I complained to Mark, he asked “do you plan on having a bonfire?”  I don’t know. I believe in wearing things out, not throwing them out. But here I am-- wanting to stick with the garden pants and facing the reality of skirts, tights, leather shoes, and clean hair. Over time, I’ll adjust…but maybe I will start in September.