February spring

Don’t hate me, hardy and intrepid folks who live in snow country, but it felt like spring around here this weekend.  And it was nice.

I hasten to add that the only reason that I can enjoy this warm weather without guilt is because rain (lots of rain) is predicted for later in the week.  I hope it’s true, because California is thirsty.  But it was lovely to have balmy temperatures and sun and blue skies, and to have the following spring-y experiences.

1.  The tapestry of color at the nursery.  I wanted to buy it all, but I contented myself with three six-packs (I sound like a frat boy, don’t I?) and one large multi-colored snapdragon.

2. Memorable little-boy observations.   There was a flowering pussy willow tree at the nursery, and  I called the boys over and had them touch it.  “Doesn’t it feel like a cat?”  I asked.

“It feels more like a dog,” said my younger son.

“I’m glad it’s not a real cat,” said my first-grader, “because I’m allergic to cats.”

3.  Dirt therapy.  The boys and I weeded, I pulled out an old dead straggly penstamon, and it just felt so good to be digging again.  Bringing color and prettiness to a tiny corner of the planet does a lot for one’s mood.

4.  Spreading the gardening love.  The boys helped me plant the tiny blue and purple violas and raspberry-pink bellis.   “Pat the dirt down around the plants,” I told them, “and tuck them in tight.”  Luke was quite taken with the experience and called his little section of flowers a “family.”  I looked over at one point to see him holding a tiny plant to his cheek and smiling.

I know just how he feels.