It is that time of year again, the time when I wander around outside with a cup of coffee each morning looking at what sprouted or bloomed the night before. Planting all these bulbs was a true pain in the ass, and I was convinced that none of them would come up, but here we are. Tulips. Muscari. There were crocuses earlier that have already gone by, and daffodils, and scilla, and there are some narcissus blooming now that you can barely see in the photo, right between the stands of tulips.Plants are truly amazing things. This is a yard that seems not to have had anything planted in it for twenty years that wasn't trash or a hosta (hostas are impossible to kill and appear to thrive on toxicity, so they were a good choice), and yet, improbably, things are growing. It makes one hopeful for the eventual reemergence of life on earth after we've poisoned ourselves off the planet. Not that I'm a cynic. Not at all. I am planting a garden in Brooklyn, after all.
To the right, a glorious view of the whole glorious yard, including the half-ton or so of dirt that Gibb and I moved into the yard on Sunday. You can see a large pile of it under the wheelbarrow on the left side of the yard. I really mean half a ton, by the way. I calculated it. Twenty-seven five-gallon buckets at about 35 pounds each, plus two garbage cans with another 200 pounds or so, well over a thousand pounds. Point being, the raw materials of actual garden beds are right there at hand, and pretty soon I'll be bedding. By, oh, August I'll be able to relax amid the flowers in my hammock.
If you click on the photo and enlarge it, you'll see that there is a field of beautiful dandelions all over the lawn. They are terrifically cheerful plants, for weeds. Since I want to plant things other than dandelions, and once there are enough dandelions there really can't be anything else, I spent an hour or so pulling them all out this afternoon.
