Everything is blooming and sprouting, the air smells fantastic as long as you stay away from the corner of the yard where the cats like to crap, and the temperature is back up in the seventies and eighties where it belongs. Oh, yes.
I spent most of the weekend in the yard, prepping beds and repotting and transplanting stuff. I hosed five pounds of horror-movie-grade black sludge out of the rain barrel and reseated its base. I put out the hummingbird feeders. I pulled so many weeds I can see their evil starburst shapes whenever I close my eyes for a few minutes.
Today Eric and I planted switchgrass seeds on the hill out back in the hopes that the grass's six-foot roots will help the soil stay put until we can afford to get the crumbling retaining walls rebuilt. The footing back there is extremely precarious in spots, so I spent a lot of my afternoon crabwalking, standing on one foot, hanging by my fingers, or sliding on my belly. We got most of the seed planted in big, satisfying rows and secured with sheets of burlap, so hopefully the gentle rain forecast for Tuesday will materialize and help things along.
Working on the slope is scary and hard and kind of horrifying, but it's strangely fun too. It seems way more adventurous than mowing the lawn, at any rate. Which I also did this weekend.
All of a sudden I would like nothing more than to sit and watch TV until my eyes fall out. I think I will do that as soon as I'm done with this post. I think I'm done with this post now.