I have been sick the last couple of days. It’s been an overall malaise that’s hit me: a kind of lingering hangover, complete with fever and body aches and a tiredness that has rendered me A Napper, something I decidedly am not on happier days. Considering I am rarely sick, I am also a crab. (I pity my relations should I really become ill.)
This is a sign of how sick I am. I cannot weed. I am too sick to weed.
Now, with the exception of brutal mid-winter days, I am an outdoorsy person. I go outside just for a passagiatta, for fresh air, for…well, for first-hand observation of The Growing Of Things. It is this time of year, the Season of Mud, whereby I am most grateful that I don’t have a “real job” which would require of me regular hygiene and, mostly, mud-free clothes. Every pantcuff usually shows a splash of the gray-brown muck of our land. And I cannot help myself to the forays outside, to see IF anything has broken the soil yet. And as of yesterday I can happily say that all seeds planted, with the exception of the poky fava (broad) beans, has. I am rewarded in every walk.
But I am too sick to put on a pair of gloves and pull things from the earth. Ah, me. And April, as we North American gardeners know, is the cruelest of months. We have a prediction of snow over the next few days. SNOW! Makes me want to climb back into bed. But first, let me go put my boots back on and see what’s happening out there…