Yesterday time was up for the seedlings that hadn’t sprouted.

If they didn’t look like this, they got re-seeded.

I kept giving them “one more day…just one more day…” But enough was enough. I expected to find lots of little half-germinated seedlings when I got in there, but I really didn’t.

It was also a good opportunity to rethink just how many poblano peppers one family can eat. So I planted a few less tomatoes and peppers, a few more zinnias, salvia, and a pampas plume celosia I’ve been dreaming of pairing in bud vases with the multi-colored zinnias.

My two favorite signs of spring snuck up on me this year. Here’s the first:

Some English daisies that I planted from seed right after we were married back in 2007. They remind me of our first house, my first grown-up yard, and our young love. I get less than 10 flowers off them every year, but {hopefully} this is the year they will find a permanent home in our yard and really get the chance to proliferate.

And I will refrain from waxing poetic about the next one:

Pale pink peonies, just like I had in my wedding bouquet. This is the second house for these, and they’ve done well here in spite of our soil issues. I’m also hoping for proliferation of these once the yard project starts and we can amend soil and transplant them.

Ok, maybe not waxing…but just one little haiku:

Grow, peonies, grow

I will bring your blooms inside

But first ants must die

“The whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, ‘Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!  Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!’

And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, rebuke your disciples.’

He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.'”

Luke 19: 37-40

 

happy resurrection day!

 

p.s…we can’t get this out of our heads around here: Remember Me by Ben Shive.

“On Friday, Lord, you poured the wine…”

Download or listen free here:

http://www.benshive.com/good-friday-songs/

It’s here. Pollen season. Somehow I have pollen amnesia every year…I forget it’s coming, and then while it’s happening I keep thinking: “how long does this last again?”

{Childbirth metaphor, anyone?}

It falls softer and quieter, and way more invisible than snow. And nothing makes me feel more solidarity with northerners. Because it requires patience.

You see, you don’t want to clean it every day. Oh no, that’s a terrible idea. And you don’t want to sweep it…that’s an even more terrible idea. You want to wait until you *think* it’s done, and then you want to hose it away.

Yesterday morning I left my car in the driveway for four hours and I came out to find it covered in a putrid green sheen.

They forecast this stuff down here. Yesterday it said POLLEN COUNT: redicula-high.

David and I {read: my dad} redid our kitchen in our first home. I remember finding drywall dust for months. Everywhere. Places I didn’t know existed needed to be dusted from the stuff. I remember we changed our filters in the house once the project was done and that helped a lot. So…could someone change the filter around here?

There is a Pollyanna moment to all of this: spring is here.

Is this a deep south phenomenon or does everyone deal with it to some degree?