Snow in April

Not at all like April in Paris, I'm guessing.

If I take the April and "it should be spring- what is going on here?" out of the equation- it is beautiful. Like an late autumn first blast of winter. I wish we had more names for snow, for we've had all kinds today- from the big Charlie Brown flaky ones, to little snow pellets that look like polyethylene pellets, to snow that looks like dust in a sunny window. It's come down straight, sideways and backwards, as best I can tell. Right now it's falling heavily, quite intent on covering everything. Across the road looks a little fogged out.

It's bitter and cold and damp and dreary. I've put a big blue tarp over the daffodils that are almost on the edge of blooming. Temp's supposed to drop to -5. We still have the corn stove on for heat and I've had to give up the barefeet for now.

It will be short lived. At this time of year, it may snow but it doesn't stick around for long. The cats check it out before heading out the door in the mornings and a couple have spent the better part of two days inside, sleeping.

Tonight is a Chamber Meeting where we're looking at the New Community Improvement Plan and seeing the current state of a project I'm involved with- mapping West Elgin's cultural assets. Now, there... bet you didn't think life on the gravel road could possibly include cultural assets!

I Miss My Greenhousey Thing

It's on days like this when I miss the contraption that The Farmer built a few years ago to support my gardening addiction. The 'Greenhouse' as we called it was, essentially that. A plastic structure built on a wooden frame, nailed into the side of the house, it had holes along the wall edges, but it also trapped the sun.
I had wooden benches in there, all my planting supplies, pots and trowels, containers and labels. It was also a convenient storage area for my bike and its carrier, and it served as a drop off/pick up place for when we weren't around.

Once I was ready to start seeds, I could muck about in there for ages, spilling dirt and playing with water to my heart's delight. Then the Greenhouse became, well, a greenhouse, keeping the new plants all cozy and warm. I could sit out there, even on bluster February days when the sun was out and stay warm. On a day like to day, I could open the studio door and let the warmth and the bird songs in. In the spring and summer I put my yard tools inside- even the wheelbarrow.

The cats LOVED the greenhouse. I'd find one or the other of them curled up in the Lee Valley dirt tray or in a bit pot, filled with dirt, that was waiting for plants or seeds. Sometimes, they'd just sit on the bench, head stretched up to the sun.

It's gone now, of course. It went as part of the brick removal Event.
I miss it. I have to walk the bike back to the barn. The plant containers are still in the shop. The cats sit on the doorsill, but when it's cold, it's cold. With all the rearrangements around here, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to manage the seeds and things. I'm sure it'll work out.

In the meantime.. I miss my Greenhouse.

Ah, Spring.. the Sounds of the Birds, the Sight of ... a Skunk

Nothing serious- went looking for a rake in the barn across the road and heard the telltale scuffle of M. Mouffette. Such an innocent, delightful sounding word in French. Mouffette, pantoufle, petite boule de fluff. The English word is so strong and stinky... S..K..U..N..K. Not a delicate vowel to be heard. It hisses and clunks and ends with a thunk.
The rake wasn't there. It must be in the parallel universe reserved for errant garden tools that the Farmer claims not to have seen. It's the same universe that wayward newly washed socks inhabit- the ones that left the bedroom IN the laundry hamper, went into the machine and were never seen again.
I left M. Mouffette alone.
I had been wondering just what had happened to the skunks that used to live under the garden shed that used to be the dog house that used to be the chicken coop where the Farmer's father lived for a short while as he waited for this house to become vacant, some 50+ years ago. They would come and visit my tent in the backyard in summer if I had any food inside.
The backyard has been flooded, twice, this year, connecting to the river that ran from the back field that connected to the pond created by the overflow at the catch basin that was being filled by the overflow from the small field near where the new barn is going to go ( that I'd hoped would be a tennis court or a swimming pool) that made our tar paper house a metaphorical castle surrounded by a moat. Me, its royal inhabitant, a princess in her palace, and Prince Charming... but I digress.
When the backyard flooded, the water was up to the floor of the garden shed, so any skunks there would have been flushed out.
Which brings us to this evening. It has been a long sunny spring yard cleanup day. The cats have been out, the windows and doors open, just a crack and just for a few moments. The shop door has been open, and therein lay a problem.
Diego spends the nights in the shop ( and THAT is a whole other story). He comes when he's called, demands his cuddles, bats my shins if we don't cuddle enough, then settles down for the evening. We've got the routine down.
I called Diego. He came. We went to the shop. I turned the light on and we made our way to his food and water bowl.
We came upon M. Mouffette, sipping from the water bowl.
The good news is that the sound and sight of the skunk did NOT lead to the smell. M. Mouffette remains in the shop, Diego will have to deal with the outside for a night- and we'll start over again tomorrow.
Sometimes on the Gravel Road, you just let well enough alone. Nothing serious. It's just a parallel universe.