Walking Iten's Acres: First Day of Spring Break March 22, 2014

Cool. Cloudy. Gray. The ground wasn't nearly as soggy as i imagined. The bog is wet, of course; and the path between it and the mound. But the bog is always wet. Yep, that's why they call it a bog. (They being me) The pussy willow between the bog and the pond is exquisite. Such wetness is a joy for a willow. I still marvel at its size--and beauty. The yellow flag and Louisiana iris are coming up as well. I love iris that love bogs. It will be awhile before they bloom, but anticipation can be a lovely thing in the world of Iten's Acres.
Though it has only been a couple of days since my "check things out" traipse, much has happened. Half a dozen Lenten rose are on the very verge of blooming. The leaves are all dead, but they are going to bud and bloom nonetheless. Warriors. Take that vortex. Crocus are starting to come up in several places as well. They are a couple of weeks late, but I magnanimously forgive them--yellow, purples, lilacs, oranges--here they come. And one yellow aconite has bloomed under the canopy--ferny leaves, brilliant yellow bloom. Nice way to start the spring. Hope there are more to come. Snowdrops everywhere. One day you don't see them; the next day you do. Delicate loveliness. A few tulips are coming up. Spring's procrastinators--won't bloom for quite awhile. And tons of daffodils breaking through the soil everywhere but the wild area. The power of flowers to force their way through rock hard soil unintimidated. The beautiful will not be denied. The only place in the wild area that they are showing themselves is in one of the new paths I cut last summer. Oops. I guess that path will have to go back to wildness. Never fear. I will get another case of pathitis this summer and be my creative self.
Lots of getting ready work to do this week--branches to take to the wild area, areas to cut back last summer's weeds--especially in the beds. Some raking as well--get the leaves out of a couple of beds. Make a pile or two of left over walnuts for bait--"here, here my furry tree rats. Never fear. Just help yourself." Heh, heh. (Sorry Cindy.)
I am so looking forward to a week of hermiting at the Acres. My reclusive soul is in need of a sabbath. A sabbath of work--a sabbath of finding joy in the "curse" of labor. Working with your hands--even arthritic ones--is an elixir for what ails a man. And it will be too cold to sweat. At least until Thursday. Oh, and I'll let you know when the forsythia bloom. Don't put those snow shovels away yet.