The poor old garden is in a standstill, waiting for spring, like everything else. Not much is happening down there; under the snow. But I do imagine that the chickweed continues to grow. I don't even know if my garlic emerged last fall; when it was time, it was covered with snow.
Fifty degrees this morning with howling winds. Rain and snow by evenings end. One day it will stop and spring will emerge; all will rejoice. But soon after the heat will come and everything will be parched and dry. We all enjoy the fleeting days of spring; but there is always too much that needs to be done.
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